


Failing and Flying

by kanonkita



Series: Humanformers Aligned [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Class Differences, F/M, Gladiators, Humanformers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, a bit of angst, before they were crazy, but also an unhealthy dose of fluffy romance, meets starscream the overly anxious virgin, megatron the sappy poet, mostly plot, sappy love letters, skywarp as a sparkling, things that happened a super long time ago, transformers as humans... but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonkita/pseuds/kanonkita
Summary: A long time ago on a planet far, far away, a certain Seeker gave up his life as a galactic explorer to try his hand at raising his newly orphaned youngest brother. In his new job as a cultural investigator, he was assigned to observe a rally in Kaon, where he happened to meet a certain charismatic gladiator.A reimagining of how Starscream and Megatron's meeting may have gone if it occurred long before the days when they were Decepticon Warlord and Air Commander of Vos.





	1. In which Starscream gets a new job

**Author's Note:**

> I did this as a humanformers story because I wanted it to be part of the same AU as my other fic, Midnight Run, but it wouldn't make a huge difference to the story if you wanna think of them as 'bots. Since my version of humanformers is basically androids made of nanobots who can change size and transform, most things are still the same. I'll do my best to explain how exactly they work without bogging the story down in unnecessary exposition, but if there's anything that doesn't make sense, drop me a line so I can check it out and try to fix it. Some of it might be stuff that I'll be explaining later in the story.
> 
> Enjoy, and please comment!

It was the book of poems that started it. Even millions of years later, Starscream could never figure how the volume ended up in a rusty used book shop to begin with, but there it was: small and slim and mysterious. There was no author's name on its simple, green cover; just the words  _About Life_. Starscream had frowned at it and flipped the delicate metal pages curiously. He would have read a poem or two before buying it, but Skywarp was tugging on his arm impatiently, and he needed  _something_  to read on the trip to Altihex (Skywarp was still several years from scanning his first alt mode at that point in time, so transport ships it was).

He bought the book, and somehow managed to finish it before the end of the flight, even with his brother jumping around in the seat beside him, demanding various forms of attention.

As the title said, the poems were simply about life, but each one was a perfectly woven tapestry of words, focusing in on brief flashes of moments. A pair of mechs haggling in the marketplace, the musings of a gladiator before a match, a femme humming to her sparkling—each was depicted with precise care and infused with meaning. Starscream had spent most of his life searching the galaxy for beauty as an explorer, but it felt as if whoever had written these poems had seen more beauty in a collection of moles on an old mech's face than he had in all the cosmos.

Starscream spent the next few days trying to prevent Skywarp from breaking anything while he navigated the bureaucracy involved in resigning from the deep space exploration corps, and he forgot about the book for a while.

In a way, it was bureaucratic inefficiency that had led him to leave the corps to begin with. There was a fuel line underneath a side street in Vos that hadn't been serviced in millennia. Several experts noticed the potential for disaster and put in ordinances with the city council. Small groups of concerned citizens tried petitioning and raising awareness, but there was a good deal of bureaucratic red tape that had to be cut through. Most didn't care. It was Vos, after all. Nearly everyone flew. When the fuel line finally did blow, it was a catastrophe that killed thirty unfortunate low-caste grounders, but the papers mostly talked about the pair of Seekers who got caught in the explosion and the three sons they'd left behind.

Starscream was in the middle of a 20-year mission when it happened, and got news of his parents' death through a transmission from his other brother, Thundercracker. He thought it was a prank at first, and it wasn't until his co-captain and best friend, Skyfire, showed him the newspaper article that he would believe it wasn't. After that, he finally read the rest of the transmission Thundercracker had sent him, and found the all-important question, "What are we going to do with Skywarp?"

Skywarp, who was only five at the time, was born a couple of years after Starscream had left on his mission, so the two brothers had never even met. All things considered, Starscream's first thought was that it would be best if Thundercracker took care of him. Skywarp knew him, and his steady, unassuming personality seemed perfect for sparklingcare. However, Thundercracker was an Air Command officer, a position that he could not resign from, and which hardly provided him time to take care of a five-year-old. So, Starscream had realized that the task would have fall to him. He'd had quite a row about it with Skyfire, though.

"Why do you have to be the one to do it? He'll be just as happy in foster care," the hulking mech had insisted.

Skyfire had been protoformed rather than born, so Starscream couldn't explain to him the concept of family obligation and knew that his friend felt betrayed. He convinced him to set the warp drives for home, but he could never find a way to make him understand his choice. When they landed on Cybertron, Skyfire had simply pulled him into a bone-crushing hug and then left without a word. Losing his best friend so soon after losing his parents stung deep, but Starscream did his best to push it from his mind by focusing on Skywarp.

In that regard, he was not disappointed. He had already been nearly a million years old himself when Thundercracker was born. He remembered his first brother's early years quite well, and he was certain that Thundercracker had never been half so much trouble as Skywarp. Thundercracker agreed.

The sparkling was everywhere, in everything, all of the time. Furthermore, he refused to recognize Starscream as anything other than a mysterious interloper—possibly the cause of his true parents' disappearance. If Starscream tried to discipline him in any way, he would fall to the ground and start screaming his head off. If he didn't discipline him, he would still scream his head off, but while also running around at speeds that no one that small should ever have been able to reach.

"They should've named  _him_  Starscream!" the frustrated Seeker declared to his adult brother one day. "And why does he hate me so much? Didn't Mom and Dad bother to tell him about me?"

"Oh, sure they did," Thundercracker assured him. "Mom was worried he wouldn't know who you were when you came back, so she used to pull up old photos and video files all the time."

"Well, it clearly didn't work!"

"The kid just lost his parents, Star. If someone showed up and started acting like Mom to you right now, would you care who they were?"

Starscream huffed in irritation at that, but he could see Thundercracker's point. It didn't make dealing with Skywarp any easier, though.

On top of everything, his new job was also proving frustrating, to say the least. When he had applied to change to a more domestic function, the Vossian council had decided that his experience as an explorer would predispose him to work as a cultural investigator, and in some ways they had been right about that. There were certain similarities—both involved travel and observation, for instance—but there was a significant difference between observing the natural world and making inductions about the social patterns and behaviors of his fellow Cybertronians.

If he'd had a choice, he would have rather joined one of the science corps. Metallurgy, now that was something he could have gotten into. Even Thundercracker's post in the Air Command sounded better at times. But there was no need for more metallurgists at the moment, and his diminutive size (for a Seeker) meant that the military was out of the question. So, cultural investigation it was.

The one good thing about the job was that it allowed him to travel most anywhere he wanted without having to apply for extra visas or permits. Anywhere he could fly there and back while Skywarp was in school, at least.

While he did most of his investigations right at home in Vos, Starscream occasionally received assignments to neighboring city-states such as Tarn, Simfur, or—very rarely—Kaon. Assignments to Kaon were by far the worst as time in the industrial smog pit of a city-state always left his ventilation systems burning for several days afterward, and chasing after Skywarp was that much harder when he couldn't breathe properly to begin with. So, he was not at all pleased the day his boss approached him with a second Kaon assignment not a week after he'd come back from the last one.

"No. Make Longshot do it," he said flatly.

His boss, a Seeker even smaller than himself and named Glitterbug of all things, cleared her throat nervously and pushed the assignment holofile toward him once more.

"It's just that the 'bots up at the Hall of Records specifically requested you for this job," she said. "You're the best at making detached observations, and this is kind of a delicate matter, they said."

"Well, tell them to get down here and do it themselves, then," Starscream snapped. He knew all too well that "good at making detached observations" was simply another way of saying, "We think you're a sparkless wretch, but at least we can use you." It wasn't his fault that he didn't get emotionally invested in the affairs of total strangers. He was a scientist, not a nurse.

"Come on, Starscream. It won't be that bad, and they're counting on you," Glitterbug simpered.

"It will, and why don't you just tell them that I was already busy with something else?"

"You mean  _lie_?" the femme asked, her red eyes suddenly wide with horror. "I guess I could try, but you know lying isn't in my programming, and… It's just… I don't…" Her lower lip was trembling now as moisture started welling up in her eyes.

"Okay, I'm sorry! I'll do it. Just stop that." Starscream snatched the holofile from her hand, cursing whoever had decided that Glitterbug was in any way suited to her position. He pulled up the introductory page for the assignment and glanced it over. "Gladiator fights?" he said.

"No, not the fights," Glitterbug corrected him, wiping at her eyes. "It's the rallies that the gladiators are holding once a week. No one's totally sure what's going on at them, but a surprising number of the workers have started attending them almost religiously. They're giving up their midday break time for it, so it's gotta be something big."

Starscream narrowed his eyes at her. "Is this investigation cultural or political?" he asked.

"I have no idea," she shrugged. "But the rally is at noon today, so you'd better get flying. There should be location details in the file."

As Starscream had feared, the rally was right in the heart of one of Kaon's most crowded and filthy industrial areas. He had to go through four different checkpoints to get there, and the the enforcers at the last one looked like they couldn't even read his visa—they just saw the stamp from the Hall of Records and waved him through.

Row after row of factory buildings towered on either side of him as he made his way down the cracked and pitted streets. Bulky mechs stared at him suspiciously from doorways and back stairwells. His instincts told him that he ought to mechanize to protect himself, but he knew better. The 'bots in these areas were not allowed alt modes, and flaunting his would only bring unnecessary trouble.

He knew better than to wear a mask, too, even though the whole place reeked of chemical wastes and his intakes were already starting to burn. Supposedly, the 'bots assigned to work in Kaon were created with stronger ventilation systems than regular Cybertronians, but even without counting deaths from suicide or drug overdose, the life expectancy for industrial workers was barely half a million. They did not take kindly to strangers who tried to protect themselves from the poisons they were forced to live with every day.

Lost in his musings on the working conditions of Kaonians, Starscream wasn't paying attention to where he was going. When he turned the next corner, he walked straight into a large mech who was standing in the middle of the road. The other mech was not much taller than Starscream, but a whole lot broader and more solid. Starscream bounced off of him rather unceremoniously.

"'tchoo think're doin'?" the stranger slurred, turning to stare down at his unsuspecting assailant with blurred yellow eyes.

Great, Starscream thought as he climbed gingerly back to his feet. This mech was clearly off his rocker on crystal slag, and he reeked of high-grade to boot. The Seeker muttered his apologies and made to walk off, hoping that if he was fast enough, the worker's impaired brain might not even notice that he had left. Unfortunately, this was not to be so.

"Yer a Seeker, ay?" the mech said, grabbing hold of Starscream's upper arm. "Got them rrrr...red eyes."

"Yes, I am," Starscream said cautiously. There were other mechs drifting out of the shadows of the doorways and narrow side streets now to see what was going on. He was equipped with a blaster, of course, but knew that it wouldn't do him much good if he was too far outnumbered. He couldn't transform and fly away either. The street was too narrow for one, and he would surely get caught in the tangle of thick power cables crisscrossing overhead before he could build up enough speed.

"Fraggin' Seeker in 'r town. Wha're 'oo he...here for?" the inebriated mech continued, giving Starscream a good shake.

The Seeker made a choking noise as his head snapped back and forth, and someone in the crowd laughed. The sound sent a shiver down Starscream's back.

"I'm a cultural investigator for the Hall of Records," he said quickly when the shaking stopped. "I came to observe a rally."

There was some murmuring in the surrounding crowd at this. Even low-caste mechs like these knew that cultural investigators held diplomatic immunity, and that attacking one was a jailable offense, or worse. However, the mech holding Starscream simply squinted at him suspiciously.

"You think're better'n us cuz'oo got a cushy assignment?" he demanded.

Yes, he did, actually. That was the whole point of form and function, after all, but he wasn't stupid enough to say it right now.

"That's certainly not for me to decide," he said, trying to be as oblique as possible.

"What's yer name?" the mech demanded, leaning in close and bathing Starscream in high-grade fumes.

"I'm not—"

"Ah'm LS417!" the mech cut him off. "See, you think're better'n us cuz'n you got a name 'n we just desss… desiggin…"

"Designations?" someone in the crowd supplied, and LS417 pointed at him gratefully.

"Look, I'm just here to perform my function, same as all of you," Starscream said, looking to the crowd for some form of sympathy. He found none. There were only the hard stares and cruel smirks on all sides.

"And what is your function?" another onlooker called out. "Spying on us for the Council?"

"We know your game! Remember last month when that Council glitch-rat came through? Said she was here to see what kind of medical care we need, but next thing we know she's hauling RF23's whole team off to the pyramid!"

This speech was followed by cries of anger from the other members of the crowd, which was getting quite large now.

"The Hall of Records operates outside of Council control, dimwits!" Starscream tried to shout over the crowd, but most didn't hear him and those who did just took affront at the insult.

"Go back to Vos, fragger!"

"We don't need you!"

"We take care of ourselves here!"

"Flyboy!"

"Spike sucker!"

Starscream's stomach clenched as the insults began flying back and forth. He was suddenly not so sure that diplomatic immunity was going to do him any good here. There was every chance that these mechs would assume they could be protected by the anonymity of a mob. He started clawing desperately at LS417's thick fingers, but his captor just watched him and laughed.

"Hey, whaddo we do wi'the spy!?" he called to the crowd.

"Throw him in the river!" someone shouted.

"Break his legs!" came another suggestion.

Starscream cursed whoever it was at Iacon that had sent him on this assignment. They certainly would not be getting a detached observation this time around if he got out of here.

A piece of metal from the crumbling street came sailing from somewhere in the crowd, and Starscream did not quite get his arm up in time to stop it glancing painfully off his forehead. There was more laughter, especially from LS417, as energon started trickling down the side of the Seeker's face. He saw a couple of other mechs in the crowd stoop to pry up bits of the paving slabs or search their pockets for something else to throw. This had gone far enough. He wasn't sure how much good it could do him, but decided he would be better off with his blaster than without it.

Just as he was about to mechanize his arm, a hush suddenly swept across the crowd. All around him, mechs were dropping various projectiles and looking sheepish or starting to hurry away altogether. Starscream felt the grip on his arm loosen slightly and looked around to see what could possibly have caught everyone's attention.

Behind him, the crowd had parted to allow a tall mech wearing a digital face mask to pass through. Starscream blinked at the newcomer in confusion. He had expected an Enforcer based on how quickly everyone had quieted down, but this mech, while he certainly didn't look like a pushover, lacked the massive frame of a Kaonian Enforcer. Something about that blank mask made him even more terrifying than an Enforcer, though..

"Ah, Soundwave, this is just a, uh..." LS417 stammered. It seemed that whatever part of his processor was dedicated to self-preservation was doing its best to sober him up.

"Release him," the mech called Soundwave ordered in an oddly synthesized voice. LS417 did so instantly.

"Function: cultural investigator?" Soundwave asked, coming closer to Starscream.

"Yes, I'm here to observe a rally," Starscream repeated, trying to stem the flow of energon from his forehead with a sleeve. Through the throbbing pain and mild dizziness, he found the processor power to wonder what a mech with a name instead of a designation was doing in this area.

Soundwave nodded and then turned to LS417, who now seemed to be shaking in fear. "Designation?" he asked.

The mech managed to squeak out a reply.

"Cultural investigators: diplomatic immunity and protection. Punishment for assault: possible termination."

"I don't think that's necessary," Starscream cut in as LS417 began to moan with terror. Sure, he had just about ended up as the victim of an angry mob because of this mech, but the idea of anyone getting terminated because of him was highly unpleasant. He could just imagine going home that evening:

"What did you do today Skywarp?"

"I learned how to write my name!"

"Awesome! I caused an international issue and got someone terminated!"

Not that he ever actually told Skywarp anything about what he did at work, but still.

"Opinions: noted," Soundwave said, turning his blank mask toward Starscream. He pointed to the injury on the Seeker's forehead with an incredibly long, thin finger. "More important issue: medical care required."

"Ah, I'll be fine," Starscream said quickly. He could only imagine what kind of hack shop passed for a medical facility around here.

"Opinions: noted once more," Soundwave said before placing one of those spindly hands on Starscream's back and starting to steer him away through the crowd.

"Is...is that all?" LS417 called after him.

"Designation: noted. Further discipline: at a later time," Soundwave returned.


	2. In which Starscream asks a great many questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my personal TF cannon, red eyes/optics are actually a trademark of Seekers, not Decepticons. Working from TFP, it makes sense in a way. Not all of the Decepticons have red eyes, but almost all the ones that do possess alt modes capable of supersonic flight, or could possess such an alt mode if they wanted.

Starscream continued to protest as the mysterious mech led him through the streets, insisting that he had an assignment to finish and that he could get treatment back at the Vossian embassy. Soundwave was apparently uninterested.

“Best course of action to complete assignment: follow Soundwave,” he intoned when Starscream protested once more that he needed to do his job.

What was with this mech’s odd vocal tick, he wondered. It sounded like part voice box damage and part grammar processing disability. Starscream gave him a surreptitious sidelong glance and now that he was looking for it, he saw the scarring on the bit of the mech’s throat that was visible between his high collar and his face mask. Intriguing.

“And what good will that do me?” Starscream wanted to know, adjusting the energon-soaked kerchief he had pressed to his forehead. It wasn’t doing much good at this point except to stop the energon from dripping into his eye.

“Soundwave: affiliated with rally speakers.”

This gave Starscream reason to pause; a mech who had enough influence to quell an angry mob (albeit a small one) just by walking down the street, and workers’ rallies that had managed to catch the attention of Iacon in one of Kaon’s worst slums. Cultural investigation indeed. He could see now why those other mechs had suspected him of being a spy. By the looks of things, he very well may have been, and that made him genuinely curious for the first time since beginning this job.

Moreover, as much as he hated to admit it, he was getting dizzy and slightly nauseated as the energon continued running undeterred down the side of his face, staining the dove gray material of his jacket.

He decided to continue along with Soundwave for the time being, telling himself that his injury wasn’t severe enough for even the worst of doctors to mess up too badly. Plus, he would be back to civilization soon.

“So, these rallies, what are they about?” Starscream ventured after a while.

“Improving life for workers,” Soundwave replied. “Current conditions: not conducive to happiness.”

“Got that right,” Starscream muttered, watching the yellow eyes as they watched him from every corner and doorway. Most of them were now curious more than hostile, but they still all looked more like the eyes of the dead than the living. He’d seen them on his previous trips to Kaon, but never as bad as this.

Not long after that, Soundwave led him up a short flight of stairs to a battered door, which he rapped on before standing aside to wait. Beside him, Starscream had a moment where his vision swam dangerously, and he found himself stumbling into the faceless mech beside him.

“Condition: worsening?”

“Just a little woozy,” Starscream muttered, pushing himself away quickly. 

After a minute or two, the door opened a crack, and a single red eye peeked out from somewhere around the level of Starscream’s midriff.

“Your master: present?” Soundwave asked.

The eye swept up and down the two on the doorstep before the door opened all the way to reveal a scrawny sparkling, only a few years older than Skywarp by the look of him, with red hair to match his eyes.

“You’ll have to wait,” the sparkling informed them sullenly, and Starscream left off staring at him to observe the space behind the door.

It was a dingy hallway, so narrow that two mechs would have been hardpressed to walk down it abreast, and yet both sides of it were lined with mechs and femmes of all sizes and descriptions. This was interesting in itself as Starscream had yet to see any other femmes in the area. There must have been at least 50 of them crammed into the space in various attitudes of ‘bots resigned to waiting a long time for something: reading battered datapads, playing cards on what little floor there was between each other, or in some cases, just recharging against their neighbors. The few closest to the door caught sight of the newcomers and began to nudge their neighbors, whispering curiously.

“Inform him of my presence,” Soundwave intoned, and the sparkling rolled his eyes with a sigh of frustration before turning to pick his way back through the throng of bodies in the hallway.

Starscream watched him go with mounting curiosity. There shouldn’t have been a sparkling here at all. Members of industrial castes had their reproduction protocols disabled before they reached full maturity, and any new additions were protoformed and raised in collective homes. Beyond that, those red eyes—they were Seeker red. Had the Kaonians somehow begun abducting sparklings from their neighboring city-states?

Before he could wonder on the horrifying implications of this idea any further, Soundwave was pushing him across the threshold and into the already overcrowded hallway. Starscream found himself pressed awkwardly up against a femme half a head taller than himself who reeked of rust and cheap perfume. She gave him a quick once over before turning to his escort.

“Hello, Soundwave. Who’s your friend?” she wanted to know.

“Cultural investigator from Vos. Designation: not yet inquired,” Soundwave replied.

“It’s Starscream,” the Seeker snapped, face coloring slightly at the implication that he would have a designation rather than a proper name.

“Oh, fancy. You can call me VR34.” She extended a hand, which Starscream checked carefully for rust before shaking. “Looks like you’ve been having yourself some fun in our little town.”

Starscream only grunted in reply as he tried to find some new part of his kerchief to press into his forehead. He didn’t have any luck; the kerchief was now so soaked that it was dripping energon itself. The sight made his stomach lurch slightly.

“Eh, Doc’ll get you fixed up in no time, don’t you worry,” VR34 assured him, as though he’d been looking concerned about the matter.

“Hey, Soundwave! Shouldn’t you be at the rally about now?” a mech from the other side of the hall called out.

“Soundwave: otherwise engaged,” he replied, placing a hand on Starscream’s shoulder.

“Aw, you can leave him here,” another mech joined in, leering at the Seeker in an unsettling manner. “We’ll take good care of him.”

“Dalliances with cultural investigators: inadvisable,” Soundwave told him.

“Oh, come on! Let a mech have his fun, how about? Anyway, that’s what they usually come ‘round here for, isn’t it?” this second mech chuckled, and the sound might have come across as playful and good-natured if Starscream hadn’t been so on edge. 

As it was, he was exceptionally grateful when a moment later the door at the end of the hallway swung open, dislodging a femme who’d been leaning against it at the time, and a short, stout mech in a coat that had once been white stepped out to call, somewhat irritably, “Soundwave!”

He caught sight of the tall, dark mech on the other end of the hallway, and then his gaze instantly snapped to the Seeker standing (or rather slumping, at this point) beside him. The doctor, as Starscream assumed he must be, rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something under his breath.

“Alright, alright, just bring him in,” he sighed, waving for the two of them to enter whatever space lay on the other side of the door. There was an instant uproar from most of the assembled mechs and femmes.

“Been here four hours already, Outburst!” one protested.

“I’m using up my day off for this!” another put in.

“You’re just gonna make him think he’s better than all of us!”

“He’s fine; I’ve survived worse than that!”

“Just cuz he’s with Soundwave doesn’t mean he’s special, too!”

“Shut up, all of you!” the doctor—Outburst, apparently—bellowed over the hubbub, and everyone instantly went silent. “The lot of you are here for rust inspection and vent cleaning at the most. If there’s anyone been here longer than he has and lost more energon, I’d be happy to see you first.”

When no one made further protests, he huffed in satisfaction and motioned again for Soundwave and Starscream to follow him. The Seeker made to pick his way through the throng of legs and feet barring his way to the door and stumbled over the first set. A strong hand caught his arm before he could face plant in the middle of them all and pulled him upright. He was about to murmur his thanks to his savior (Soundwave), when the tall mech bent down slightly to grip him around the middle and lifted him off the floor altogether.

The others in the hallway roared with laughter at the sight of the Seeker kicking and protesting as Soundwave carried him safely over the crowd to set him down in the doorway. Face burning, Starscream turned back to him.

“That was utterly unnecessary!” he snapped. Starscream had never understood why other ‘bots seemed to think that his diminutive size gave them a right to manhandle him however they liked. He didn’t mind so much when it was Thundercracker or his father or even Skyfire, but having it done by a complete and utter stranger was too much.

Soundwave seemed either not to understand or not to care about the affront he had caused, and simply cocked his faceless head slightly to the side as the Seeker tried to readjust his clothes. He didn’t have much success as just then the doctor took hold of his arm and started pulling him into the adjoining room.

“Come on, then. As you can see, I haven’t got all day,” Outburst griped.

Starscream started to protest, but stopped, his mouth hanging open slightly when he saw what awaited him. It was a perfectly normal and surprisingly clean doctor’s office with two examination tables in the middle and an awful lot of what looked like supply boxes stacked against one wall. The redheaded sparkling that had answered the door earlier was kneeling on one end of the counter that ran the length of the room and unloading packages of suture kits into one of the cupboards set into the wall above him. As strange as it was to find any of these things in the middle of Kaon, the thing that gave Starscream pause was the mech who was already sitting on one of the examination tables.

First and foremost, he was huge—almost as tall as Skyfire even, but unlike Skyfire, his bulk was distributed in perfectly toned muscles that moved like poetry as he straightened and turned to face the newcomers. Starscream had an excellent view of this as the mech’s shirt was lying in a crumpled ball on the examination table beside him; he seemed to be halfway through having the dressing changed on a nasty-looking shoulder wound.

Their eyes met, and Starscream felt his intakes liquefy as scarred and rugged features pulled into a welcoming smile that made him suddenly aware of just how ghastly he must look, covered in energon as he was. Despite the mech’s silver hair and worn features, he didn’t look old—older than Starscream, for sure, but then at three million, most ‘bots still were. 

And then the rational, scientific part of Starscream’s mind caught up with him and pointed out that those shining eyes were, in fact, red. And here was a mysteriously misplaced sparkling with apparent Seeker heritage as well.

The good ones were always taken. Not that he had seriously considered forming any kind of connection with the sort of mech who would show up in an establishment like this. Not really. Not for long enough to get past a clear image of what the home they would share might look like, at least.

“Megatron: ought to be at the plaza already.”

Soundwave’s monotone broke Starscream from his daydream and, monotone though it was, somehow managed to sound highly disapproving. He looked up at the faceless mech for a moment and then back to the one on the examination table. So, this mech was called Megatron? It had to be a name he’d chosen for himself. No one in their right mind would name a sparkling after the Fallen.

He also seemed to be one of Soundwave’s aforementioned affiliates involved in the rallies.

“Oh, come on, Soundwave. It’s not as if they could start without me,” Megatron chuckled, a deep, musical sound.

“Precisely,” said Soundwave.

“Don’t chase him away, Soundwave. I have a hard enough time getting him in here to begin with,” Outburst said as he began prodding Starscream up onto the other examination table.

The Seeker did his best not to stare at the large, shirtless mech who was now directly opposite him, but couldn’t help shooting a few more glances. He had expected that Outburst would set to work on him straight away, but instead, the doctor was making his way across the room to where the sparkling sat on the countertop.

“So, who are you?” Megatron asked, and it took Starscream a second to realize he was being addressed.

“I’m a cultural investigator from the Hall of Records,” Starscream said for what felt like the thousandth time. They ought to have badges or special coats to wear so that people didn’t have to ask so often.

“I know that much. Soundwave commed me while you were walking over. I meant your name,” the older mech elaborated, his smile widening slightly at the way the Seeker’s face flushed yet again.

“Oh! Oh, uh… Starscream,” he stammered, forcing his eyes away from Megatron’s face to watch Outburst now ushering the sparkling off the counter and back toward them.

“Starscream?” Megatron mused. “‘That my love not die till all is dark, let it be heard in the turn of the world, the scream of the stars, and the beat of your spark.’ From the original translation of  _ Song of Solus _ , am I right?”

Starscream blinked. People rarely got that as the more modern and widely accepted translation used the phrase “call of the cosmos” instead, but his mother had always preferred the original. 

“You study ancient poetry?” he asked.

“I like to read a bit here and there in my spare time,” Megatron shrugged.

“Don’t get him started on it,” the doctor said firmly as he and the sparkling rejoined them. “I haven’t the patience for ballads and sonnets today.”

He picked up the roll of dressing material he’d left on the table by Megatron and started pulling some of it off. Meanwhile, the sparkling dragged a small step ladder up to Starscream’s examination table and approached the Seeker with a bag of puff pads and a bottle of cleansing solution. When Starscream leaned back from him with a wary expression, the sparkling rolled his eyes and put the bottle down on the table so that he could rest his hand on his hip.

“Relax; I’m a trained doctor’s assistant,” he sighed in a long-suffering manner that made him sound much older than the eight or nine years he appeared to possess.

“He’s cleaned worse cuts than that without incident, Mr. Cultural Investigator,” Outburst commented, turning slightly.

“You’ve been using him as a medical assistant?” Starscream was incensed at the idea. A sparkling this age ought to be in school and receiving nurture and encouragement in a safe environment, not knocking around in medical facilities and being exposed to Primus knew what. He had read quite a few books on the matter lately.

“If he’s gonna stay here, he ought to earn his keep,” Outburst said, disinterestedly.

“And I like being a medical assistant. What’s so wrong with that?” the sparkling demanded. “I get to see the gladiator fights, too.”

“You take him to those bloodbaths!?”

This time, it was Megatron who replied, laughing as he did, “Kid, around here, most of us had seen worse than that long before his age. Besides, Knock Out’s one of the best medical assistants we have in the ring.”

“Damn straight, I am,” the sparkling agreed, visibly swelling with pride at these words.

“It’s useful to have a pair of hands that can get into small spaces,” Outburst added.

Starscream mouthed at them in horror, lost for words, but after a moment of sitting under Megatron’s encouraging smile and Knock Out’s impatient glare (another feature that went far beyond his years), he peeled the kerchief away from his forehead. The leaking had finally stopped, and his unconventional nurse set to work dabbing half-congealed energon from the area surrounding the cut. Across the way, Outburst started lecturing Megatron about not exacerbating his injuries before they’d had a chance to heal.

“You know,” Starscream said tentatively, determined to get to the bottom of the matter of this sparkling, “you  _ are _ pretty young for a medibot.”

Knock Out snorted. “With experience, not age, does wisdom come,” he said in a singsong voice.

“Er, right. I was just wondering—ow!” he pulled back as some of the cleansing solution dripped into his cut. It stung worse than he had expected. “I was wondering where your parents are,” he finished, still wincing slightly.

“Who knows?” the sparkling shrugged.

Starscream’s eyes flicked back over to Megatron for a moment. 

“Do you have other family around here?” he asked.

“No,” Knock Out said simply. “Stop talking. It makes it hard to clean your face.”

Starscream shut his mouth obediently and frowned. Seekers lived in Vos; that was just the way it went. There weren’t even many in Iacon or Praxis, apart from a few high-ranking scientists or politicians like Councilman Vigor. Yet here were two Seekers of no relation to each other living in one of the worst districts of Kaon. The odds on that had to be exceptionally long.

Knock Out had finished his cleaning job a moment later and stepped back to admire his work. “He’s all ready for you, Outburst,” he proclaimed, hopping down from the footstool and scurrying back across the room to his previous task on the counter.

“Just another second,” the doctor murmured. He secured the bandage on Megatron’s shoulder with a final piece of adhesive. “Right, you’re all set,” he declared, slapping the larger mech’s back, just close enough to his shoulder to make him wince. “Knock Out, toss me one of those suture kits.”

“Sutures? It’s not that bad, is it?” Starscream squeaked as the sparkling took one of the packages from the box and lobbed it across the room at them. Outburst caught it and turned to the Seeker on his other examination table.

“Don’t be a wimp. You got off easy compared to the last three Vossians I had in here,” he said, taking Starscream’s face in his hands so that he could examine the cut more thoroughly.

“You get Vossians in here often?” Starscream mumbled around the hand gripping his jaw.

“Yeah, usually the ones that get dredged up out of the river. I do the autopsies before we ship ‘em home.”

Starscream remembered how one of the mechs in the mob earlier had shouted for him to be thrown in the river, and his face, already pale from energon loss, went even whiter still.

“Oh, come on, you’re scaring him, Doc,” Megatron called through the folds of the shirt he was pulling over his head. “I’m sure Starscream isn’t one of  _ those  _ Vossians.”

“And what Vossians would those be?” Starscream wanted to know.

“The ones who come around here to get at our femmes and leave presents like him.” Outburst jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Knock Out as he said this. The sparkling didn’t seem to notice.

Starscream didn’t know what to say to that and once again mouthed silently as the doctor released him.

“Good news: looks like you’ll only need three or four stitches,” he announced, picking up the suture kit he’d set on the table beside him.

“That can’t be right,” Starscream finally managed.

“What? Did you want more?”

“No! I meant… Seekers can’t have been coming over here and…”

“Not just the Seekers. Everyone does it,” Megatron said, as though this would somehow make it better. “It’s just easiest to spot the aftermath when the Seekers do it.” He tapped a finger next to his own crimson eyes, and Starscream managed to stop himself from asking if he too was one such aftermath.

“But I thought that lower caste femmes had their reproduction protocols disabled,” he said in a low voice.

Outburst snorted. “Yeah, and the person who comes up with a foolproof method of doing that will be hailed as one of the greatest heroes of our age.”

“In the meantime, we’ve been forced to find other ways of protecting our own,” Megatron said.

How had he never heard of this? He’d overheard his father’s less savory colleagues’ whispers at parties any number of times, but he’d never caught any mention of trips to Kaon and certainly nothing about illegitimate sparklings.

Although, he supposed no one would talk about that anywhere public; the punishment for willful sparkling abandonment under Vossian law was castration, regardless of the circumstances under which said sparkling came into being. Starscream had thought it was odd that there was a punishment for mechs on this regard and not femmes until he’d had a chance to observe a few more femmes with their sparklings. There was no punishment for a femme who abandoned her child because no femme ever would. It wasn’t in their programming. This brought up another question, though.

“Then where’s his mother?”

Another snort from Outburst and a hard stare from Megatron.

“Mothers: rarely survive to childbirth. Almost never past it,” came a monotonous voice from near the door. Starscream turned to Soundwave, who he had forgotten was there.

“Our lifestyle here isn’t conducive to the needs of a carrying femme,” Outburst explained. “They die of malnutrition or kill themselves out of shame most of the time. Knock Out’s mother was the friend of a friend. We did our best for her, but I haven’t found a cure for a broken spark yet. Still, her curse has been my blessing; he really does make a good assistant.”

Knock Out did look over at that, swelling with pride to the point that Starscream began to fear he might float up off the counter.

“But he’s a Seeker, isn’t he?” Starscream continued. “You could have brought him to the Vossian embassy. He has rights as a Vossian citizen, and—”

“And his family’s _ here _ ,” Outburst cut him off. “We might not have as many biological family units as you do over in  _ Vos _ ,”—he practically spat the name of the other city-state—“but we still care for our own.”

That shut Starscream up for a moment as he looked back and forth between the assembled mechs. Outburst avoided his gaze, busying himself with the finishing touches of preparing the suture kit instead. Megatron gave him a wry half-smile, and Soundwave of course had his face covered with that mask. Knock Out on the other hand was looking at him with something like curiosity underneath all that pride, a sentiment Starscream returned wholeheartedly.

“Right, then. Try not to jerk around too much when I’m sticking the needle in or you’ll end up with scarring,” Outburst said suddenly, holding up a threaded needle.

“Don’t you have any anaesthetic?” Starscream asked, leaning away. It was too much to hope that a Kaonian doctor would have the education to do something so complicated as disable his pain sensors, but anyone could slap on a bit of topical anaesthetic. There had to be some in one of those boxes.

“I’m not gonna waste it on something as simple as this,” the doctor scoffed. “I save that for treating these guys when things get too hairy in the ring.” He gestured toward Megatron and Soundwave.

“Are both of you—OW!” Starscream yelped and pulled back as Outburst tried to stab the needle into his forehead.

The doctor made a noise of exasperation and turned to Megatron. “I may need you to hold him down,” he said.

Starscream’s eyes widened in outrage at the suggestion, but before he could protest, Megatron let out a bark of laughter. “Please, Doctor, the poor thing looks terrified enough without you threatening him with gladiators,” he chuckled.

This remark served only to increase the Seeker’s ire, and he set his jaw in determination as he turned back to Outburst.

“I’m perfectly capable of sitting still for my own medical procedures,” he snapped. “You just took me by surprise was all.”

“Then let’s have it over and done with,” the doctor grumbled.

Starscream leaned forward and clutched the edge of the table until he felt the metal lip bite into his fingers as Outburst dug the needle into his forehead once more. It hurt. So much so that he wanted to scream and pull away again, but he saw the way that Megatron was leaning back against the other examination table and watching him with something like amusement. No way would he give it to him. So, he bit his lip, gripped the table harder, and stared straight ahead at the stains on Outburst’s coat as the thread slid through his skin with a sickening sensation.

He tried to swallow his nausea down as Outburst began to tie the first stitch off with more tugging and small jerks on the thread. The thread that was running through his skin...

But no. He was okay. He was fine.

The first stitch finished, Outburst started in on the next—piercing pain, sliding pain, tugging, thread sliding through his open flesh…

The stains on the doctor’s coat began to swim and blur together, and Starscream tried to breathe as slowly and deliberately as possible. He was not going to throw up. He was just fine. He was a grown mech who had flown around the galaxy. He could deal with a few stitches. He was okay. He was…

...lying on his back.

It seemed to have suddenly become very loud; there was a rushing, roaring sound filling his ears, almost like being underwater. He tried lifting his hands to cover his ears and found them unresponsive. As he pondered over this, he also became conscious of the fact that his eyes were closed. It felt like too much effort to open them. In fact, he felt decidedly dizzy and ill, and was certain that he would throw up if he tried to do anything other than lie here against this wonderfully cool surface. As he did so, the rushing in his ears started to subside and voices came through.

“...lucky this one didn’t purge all over me at least.”

“He was tougher than he looked, I’d say.”

“Well, you know how it is: mechs like us are built to suffer, mechs like him are built to be pampered.”

“Awfully functionalist of you, Megatron.”

The voices also sounded like they were coming to him through water, the rushing sound obscuring them and somehow making them seem louder at the same time. Two of them he registered as Outburst and Megatron, but the third was new.

“I’ve never said there was zero merit whatsoever to form and function, just that—”

“How can a species with more than one form be resigned to one function?”

This last voice was Knock Out, and he sounded like he was reciting something he’d heard a thousand times before.

“Exactly. Good to see you’ve been paying attention, bitlet.”

“More like getting brainwashed.” That third voice again.

The voices were becoming clearer now, and Starscream cracked one eye open experimentally. The first thing he saw was the vast back and shoulders of the mech sitting beside him on the edge of what seemed to be the examination table—Megatron. 

He realized then that he must have passed out in the middle of getting stitches put in. Right in front of a gladiator, who doubtless suffered worse pain on a daily basis. To make matters worse, he now saw that the unidentified third voice belonged to one of the mechs who had been waiting in the hall, and who was now seated on the other examination table, watching him with vast amusement.

Starscream closed his eyes again and moaned with utter mortification. The next moment, he heard Megatron shift slightly on the edge of the table.

“Is he coming back online?” Outburst’s unconcerned voice asked from the other side of the room.

“Looks like.” Megatron again. Some of the light filtering through Starscream’s eyelids was blocked momentarily as though someone were leaning over him. “Hey? You alright?”

Starscream opened his eyes as he felt something cold press against his neck. Megatron was staring down at him, pushing a cold pack against his face and neck. His expression was not concerned, per se, but neither was it mocking or annoyed. Starscream tried to answer, but found his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and in no mood to release itself.

“Nngghannnngh,” he managed.

“Take it easy. That was a lot of energon to lose for such a small frame,” Megatron said.

He probably thought that he was being reassuring, but Starscream just felt a twinge of annoyance. So what if he had a small frame? Variety was the spice of life, and not everyone could be a hulking, monstrous mass of a mech. Or so his mother had always told him, at least. Besides, even if he was small for a Seeker, he would be quite tall for a Two-wheeler.

He attempted to inform Megatron of such, but once again, he only managed a few unintelligible moans. The gladiator gave a small sniff of amusement before lifting the Seeker’s head to put the cold pack behind his neck. Starscream would have been even more irritated if the cold didn’t feel so good. It was helping to pull himself further out of the fog that had enveloped his processor.

“Did you contact Iacon yet?” Megatron asked someone just out of Starscream’s line of sight.

“Affirmative.”

Ah, Soundwave.

“And?” Megatron pressed.

“Confirmation: will send someone via ground bridge at the soonest convenience.”

Wait.

Starscream forced his mouth to work. “Iacon… how? Why?” he managed.

“The comm frequency for the Hall of Records isn’t exactly secret,” Megatron reminded him. “Soundwave just called them up and let them know we have one of their C.I.s in a rather sorry state.”

Oh, no. They did not.

“Did you… give them my name?”

“Should we not have?”

They did.

Starscream groaned more emphatically this time and closed his eyes again because he knew exactly who was going to be stepping out of that ground bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out's cameo in this chapter came about entirely on a whim, but I've decided that I like this origin story for him. He won't be in this story much, but if you're a Knock Out fan, you can always check out my other work: Midnight Run.
> 
> Also, as a side note, I have personally done exactly what Starscream did just there: "I'm fine, Doc. I'm really fine. I'm totally.... Oh, why am I lying down?"


	3. In Which Starscream Deals with Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, if you knew. If you only KNEW how many completely different drafts this chapter has gone through....... I've put my other fic on hiatus though, so hopefully I can update this one more often from now on.

It was some relief to realize that Outburst had finished his stitches while he was unconscious, but at the same time, Starscream couldn’t help feeling irritated that they had done anything to him without his knowledge, medically necessary or otherwise. Like calling Iacon. They’d had no right to go calling unsolicited assistance for him, and he felt perfectly capable of getting himself home, head wound or no. He made sure to tell them such as soon as his head cleared enough to sit up straight and glare.

Outburst just laughed.

“And like as not have crashed straight into the Sea of Rust on your way,” he chortled.

“I could have taken a transport ship,” the Seeker huffed. He couldn’t have, really, because he needed to be back to Vos in just two hours to pick up Skywarp from school, and the soonest transport wouldn’t have gotten him back until almost midnight.

“There's no need to be embarrassed,” said Megatron, who was still leaning against the table beside Starscream for some reason, despite Soundwave’s incessant reminders that he was now a full hour late to the rally that he was supposed to be running.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Starscream muttered, cheeks flushing around the cube of low grade he was nursing.

Someone tapped impatiently on the examination room door, and Outburst called for Knock Out to answer it. Starscream closed his eyes and braced himself. No sooner had the door opened than he heard a squawk of protest from Knock Out and the clack of high heels crossing the tile floor.

“What did you do this time, Screamer?” a femme's voice demanded without preamble.

“Nice to see you, too, Slipstream,” he returned without looking at her. He hadn't seen his cousin since he'd first returned to Cybertron, when he'd had to collect Skywarp from her and her mother. The two of them had never been anything like close, despite being only a few years apart in age, and lately he'd found new reason to avoid her.

“Well, do my eyes deceive me, or are you two twins?” the rusty mech on Outburst's table exclaimed with all the gusto of someone who had just found a flock of Praxian lilleths.

“What gave it away?” Slipstream said, grabbing Starscream's face and pulling it next to her own. Identical almond eyes, high cheek bones, and sharp noses aligned for a moment, the only difference being the somewhat more masculine angles to Starscream's features, until he smacked her away.

“Our mothers are twins,” he explained, as he had literally tens of millions of times since sparkhood.

“They must both be lovely femmes, then,” Megatron remarked, his gaze sweeping up and down Starscream rather than Slipstream. The Seeker frowned, unsure whether to take this as a complement to his mother or an insult to himself.

“Mine is, his was,” Slipstream sighed. “Anyway, sorry you had to deal with my cousin. We keep hoping that he'll get a handle on himself one of these days, especially now he's got a sparkling to raise and all.”

“My brother,” Starscream put in quickly when Megatron's eyebrows shot up. “I'm raising my little brother because _someone's_ mother is too busy being a socialite to do it.”

“Why should she? It's not _her_ fault he's an orphan. In fact, if your mom had accepted her invitation to our gala that night, she might still be alive,” Slipstream sniffed, and Starscream stared at her with his mouth slightly agape for a moment. She was, in almost every respect, a carbon copy of her mother, and therefore his as well. If she didn't open her mouth, he could almost pretend that they were the same person, but that was always too much to ask for, it seemed.

The awkward silence that had descended on the room was broken a moment later when the door to the examination room opened again, without a knock.

“Slipstream, if you cannot follow instructions, then I will not be bringing you out into the field with me from now on,” came another femme's voice, this one deep and musical, even with a touch of impatience in it.

This time, Starscream did turn to acknowledge the tall Grounder who was sweeping across the room toward them.

“Sorry, Director Aerial,” Slipstream was saying, her voice suddenly all sweetness and charm. “I was just so worried about my cousin, you know?”

The other femme gave her a look that came as close to saying, “Turbobull scrap” as such a noble face could before sweeping her gaze over the assembled Kaonians.

“So,” she said to Megatron, apparently having decided that he was the one in charge. “Would you like to explain to me why one of my investigators is sitting here with three stitches in his head?”

“My good femme, Kaonian doctors have their pride, too. We were hardly going to send him home _without_ stitching him up,” Megatron replied, flashing her a slightly crooked grin.

Starscream had known Aerial since long before he'd started working for the Hall of Records (she was a friend of his parents' from all the way back in the days of the Quintesson war), and he in no way thought less of Megatron for faltering a bit under the _look_ that she was giving him now. The gladiator glanced to Outburst, who threw his hands up in a “not my problem” manner, and then to Soundwave, who was busy ignoring the whole scene in favor of testing how far he could bend a tongue depressor before it would snap. Megatron flashed the briefest of glares at him before turning back to Aerial, a slightly more subdued expression on his face now.

“I'm afraid tensions are a little high in our district right now,” he said. “And Seekers have never been popular around here except as... Well, they don't get much respect, let's put it that way. In the future, if you need to send someone from your Vossian branch, I would recommend arranging them an escort.”

Aerial pursed her lips for a moment, and Starscream could only assume that she was compiling a list in her head of all the 'bots who must have dropped the ball for such a blunder to occur. For now, though, it seemed that her instincts as a cultural investigator superseded whatever else she was feeling, as the next thing she said when she opened her mouth was, “Do the raised tensions have anything to do with these rallies we're trying to investigate?”

“And I'd be more than happy to go into depth about that if you'd be so kind as to send Starscream back here sometime. With appropriate backup, of course,” Megatron chuckled, and the Seeker's stomach did a little flip-flop as he realized that Megatron was covering for him. It was supposed to be _his_ job to investigate this area, after all, and the gladiator seemed to have realized that it would do no favors to his career if his boss ended up doing it instead.

Aerial turned and gave Starscream a searching look. “We'll see about that,” she declared.

See about what? She sounded like his mother when he asked her for a treat he hadn't earned.

“What if I came to investigate here instead?” Slipstream asked, leaning across the examination table.

“No,” Aerial said without looking at her. “How much do we owe you for the medical costs?”

While she and Outburst were arranging the credit transfer, Slipstream took the opportunity to sidle a bit closer to Megatron.

“So,” she said, flipping dark hair over her shoulder. “What's a mech like you doing in a place like this?”

“I happen to live here,” Megatron replied, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

“Well, I suppose real estate must be cheap in the neighborhood, at least. You should give me a tour sometime. I'd  _love_ a chance to investigate your quarters—purely for cultural purposes, of course.”

“ _Slipstream!_ ” Starscream hissed, the heat rising in his face as he tugged his cousin away. He couldn't decide whether he was more mortified or jealous of her boldness.

“Oh, loosen up, Screamer,” she sniffed, wrenching out of his grip. The pull sent him off balance, and he slid gracelessly from the table, running into Slipstream as he struggled to get his balance. Megatron caught both Seekers before they fell over and righted them as easily as if they'd been dolls.

“As flattered as I am at your interest, I'm afraid my quarters aren't any place for femmes to come visiting,” he said, and Slipstream sighed in resignation.

“Well, it was worth a try.”

“You two,” Aerial called, turning back to them. “Stop making trouble and let's get going.”

“She's the only one making trouble,” Starscream protested under his breath, and Slipstream elbowed him in the ribs.

 

* * *

 

Megatron saw them back out to the front of the clinic to wait for their groundbridge to open again, claiming that he wanted to prove that Kaonian etiquette was not dead yet, and when it did, Starscream figured it couldn't hurt to cast just one last glance over his shoulder at the gladiator before he stepped through it. Dark red eyes gazed back at him as Megatron leaned casually against the wall of the building, arms folded across his chest in a way that showed off his thick biceps. He smiled, quirking an eyebrow at the Seeker. Starscream quickly looked away again and let Aerial prod him through the portal. The best things in life always seemed to be just out of his reach.

They came out in the echoing marble expanse of the Hall of Records terminal. Starscream pulled a long cycle of air through his vents, relishing the lack of chemical burn. He'd almost gotten used to it by the time they'd left, but he didn't doubt he'd be feeling it tomorrow.

Aerial raised a hand in greeting to the only other 'bot in the terminal hall—the little Two-wheeler operating the bridge controls—and then rounded on the Seeker behind her.

“Alright, let's hear it, then. Starscream, what did you do?”

He reeled back from her and heard Slipstream snigger slightly. “I didn't do anything!” he protested. “There was just this drunk mech who grabbed me and started yelling, and then someone threw a paving tile at my head!”

“Why did he grab you?”

“Because I walked into him on accident? I dunno. Why would you just assume that it was my fault?”

“I'm not assuming it's your fault, I'm just...” She pinched the bridge of her nose impatiently. “Starscream, I want you to go on leave for a little while,” she said after a moment.

He gaped at her. She couldn't put him on leave. He wanted to work— _needed_ to work, needed the distraction from... everything. 

Slipstream made a little “uh-oh!” noise, and he rounded on her. “Will you go catalog some datapads or something!?” he snarled.

“I'm an administrative assistant, not an archivist,” she sniffed, and then added hurriedly with a glance in Aerial's direction, “Not that there's anything wrong with being an archivist.”

“Then go assist with something!”

“You've got next week's assignment schedules to finish before you go home tonight, don't you?” Aerial put in, more diplomatically than Starscream.

Slipstream huffed a cycle of air through her pointed nose before stalking off, the clack of her heels resounding throughout the hall not quite covering Starscream's next words.

“What did I do wrong!?” he demanded, turning back to Aerial.

“I don't think you did anything wrong, Starscream,” she assured him. “I just want to find out how you ended up getting sent on this assignment.”

“Some idiot didn't do their research right, but I don't see what that has to do with me and my job.”

“Two Seekers were murdered in that section of Kaon just within the last six months,” Aerial reminded him, lowering her voice. “Any assignments in the area would have been instantly blacklisted for the Vossian branch, but somehow you were _specifically requested_ for this one. I know you're not an idiot, Starscream— think about it.”

The Seeker frowned and folded his arms across his chest, starting to see where this was going. “No one cares about the son of a _dead_ Air Commander,” he muttered.

It was the one morbid benefit of his parents' death. His father had made a lot of enemies during the millions of years he had served as Air Commander of Vos, and some of those enemies were the sort who thought it wise to do things like dangle the Air Commander's son over a pit of scraplets or threaten to cut his spark out if their demands were not met. It never worked because Air Commander Maelstrom hadn't held his position so long for nothing, but that didn't stop them trying. And it was always Starscream and never Thundercracker because he was the oldest, and therefore considered more valuable, but also because he was much easier to stuff in a box or bag. He had developed a fabulous case of claustrophobia over the years.

But now his father was dead, and the current Air Commander didn't give two slags what happened to him, so he'd thought all of that was behind him.

“On the contrary,” Aerial sighed, “there are quite a few 'bots out there who are less than pleased that your parents' deaths were a complete and total accident that none of them can claim credit for. It's possible some of them would like to make a grab at whatever chance they can get to destroy Air Commander Maelstrom's legacy, though I confess this is almost a refreshingly creative approach to the matter.”

“I don't see why that means I have to go on leave,” he said, hunching his shoulders up a bit. “They could just as easily target me at home as they could on the job.”

“Because if this was intentional, then whoever's doing it is _at_ work,”  she pointed out. “Just for a few weeks. I'll have Jazz look into it; you know if there's anything to find out, he'll find it. And you can use the time to work things out a bit more with Skywarp.”

She smiled at the look of surprise that he gave her. “ _You_ might never bother to call, but I do talk to Thundercracker sometimes,” she explained. “He said you're having trouble adjusting to each other.”

“Tell me about it,” Starscream groaned. “I _never_ want my own sparklings after this.”

He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He knew that Aerial herself wanted her own sparklings very much, and he also knew that the only one she and her conjunx had ever managed to conceive had died two months before it was due to be born. However, as this was something he only knew because he'd overheard his and Slipstream's mothers gossiping about it once, he could see no tactful way to apologize for the faux pas.

“Well, anyway,” he coughed, “I'll, uh... I'll take the leave, if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you,” she said, sounding sincere.

“And I'd better be going now, so...” He started edging his way back toward the groundbridge.

“Will I see you at Governor Sweetrock's birthday gala this weekend?”

As a matter of fact, he had been planning to avoid the occasion like a Cosmic Rust quarantine facility. It was bound to be full of mechs and femmes who thought they knew him just because they'd known his parents and who all wanted to offer their condolences on his loss and ask him about how he was getting on and make suggestions about how he could be getting on better. Most of which would probably involve commenting on the fact that he had yet to show interest in taking any of their daughters as a mate.

“I'll be watching Skywarp,” he said, reflecting that there might be a positive side to having a sparkling in his life after all.

Aerial looked like she was about to find some way to remove this obstacle for him, and he was saved her good intentions by a sudden tone that sounded from his external comm link. He dug it out of his pocket, and his eyebrows drew together as he saw the frequency for Skywarp's school director flashing across the ID screen.

Primus, this day.

 

* * *

 

It was a few minutes after the groundbridge had disappeared before Megatron became aware of Soundwave's presence at his elbow.

“What,” Soundwave said, with a tad more expression in his voice than usual, “was that?”

“What was what?” Megatron asked, his face all blank innocence.

The screen of Soundwave's mask flickered slightly, and a recording of Megatron's own voice started playing, quoting the line from _Song of Solus_ , followed by the words “...must both be lovely femmes, then.”

“Oh, hush! It's not like I was serious,” the gladiator huffed, putting a hand over the mask and pushing Soundwave away.

“Suggestion,” Soundwave intoned, grabbing hold of the hand on his face before he toppled over. “Megatron researches more modern methods of flirting if he intends to court younglings.” There was almost a note of amusement in his voice.

“He wasn't a youngling, and since when were _you_ an expert on the matter?” Megatron demanded, starting to walk away down the street. “Come on. As you've been telling me for the past hour-and-a-half, we have a rally to run. If anyone's still there.” Soundwave lingered at the bottom of the stairs for the briefest of moments before following.

 

* * *

 

In any other city-state, the idea of having an academy just for sparklings would have been laughable (when would there ever be enough of them at one time to make it worthwhile?), but as Seekers had a unique tendency to sync their biological processes on something of a society-wide basis, newsparks came to them in waves instead of the drips and drabbles of other Cybertronian races. So it was that back during the Golden Age, the Vossian Senate had seen fit to create The Academy for Healthy Sparkling Development, where the progeny of high caste Seekers could spend their early days learning basic skills while surrounded by the peers they would later navigate the ins and outs of high society with for millennia to come.

The mech placed in charge of this academy was one Torrent, a scientist of no particular note who still spent the times in between these waves of newsparks lecturing at universities around the planet. Before this appointment, Torrent had always been a lingerer on the fringes of the upper caste, taking far more notice in the goings on of his peers than they ever did in him, and he was resigned to that. What did a scientist need with popularity, after all? But as caretaker to the progeny of the movers and shakers of Vos, he gradually began to find his position shifting.

Many of these youngsters had lingering feelings of obligation and respect toward their old schoolmaster, and were more than ready to show it. Suddenly, he was getting invites to all the best parties, finding crates of the finest high grade sent to his home on special occasions, and there was always a choice seat reserved for him at the theaters and concert halls. Furthermore, his opinions became valued in the political arena, and it seemed that hardly a decision was passed through the Senate or one of the Councils that did not have his word of approval on it.

The fact that he had never imagined a life of such prestige for himself did not prevent Torrent from taking intense delight in it now that he had it, and as time went on, he began to regard each little mech or femme that passed through his care as something of a prized possession, insurance for the continuation of his ease. Each time one of the nobles reproduced, he rejoiced in the knowledge that here was another corner of their society that he could soon expect to gather under his wings, especially when said noble was someone truly of note like the High Chancellor, or the head of the Flight Academy, or the Air Commander, for instance.

It was a pity, really, that Maelstrom's oldest son had ended up a scientist instead of the military prodigy Torrent was hoping for, but the second son seemed to be shaping up well enough and now that he had a _third_ shot... Well. There was a reason that Torrent had not expelled Skywarp from the Academy, regardless of how many parents had suggested in varying degrees of urgency that it was the only appropriate response to his recent behavior. After all, what was dealing with a disgruntled film star or scientist compared to the potential that the sparkling presented?

He should have known that it would only be a matter of time before the wretched little thing pissed off a parent who wasn't so easy to dismiss.

“Do you have any idea how much trauma this is going to cause her!? A young femme's hair is her life, you know! How could you let this happen!?” Senator Liftright demanded, a long braid of light pink hair clutched in her hand like a saber. Behind her, her daughter, Brightsky, was sunk low in her chair, looking bored more than upset as she fingered her freshly chopped locks.

“Senator..” Torrent tried to cut in, but she wasn't finished.

“I want some kind of retribution—no, I demand it! How do you intend to make him compensate for this!?” She swung the braid toward the purple-haired sparkling slumped in another chair, who was picking at the warp inhibitor clamped to his wrist and scowling resolutely at the floor.

Torrent was saved having to think of any answer to the senator's demands when the door of his office burst open and Starscream came storming into the room, splattered in dried energon and wafting the acrid fumes of Kaon in his wake. He spared the briefest of looks in his brother's direction (Skywarp had stopped picking at his bracelet in favor of staring in slack-jawed amazement at this much-more-interesting-than-usual version of Starscream) before drawing up beside Liftright and folding his arms pointedly across his chest.

“Well?” he demanded after several seconds of silence had stretched between them.

Liftright finally stopped staring at him and made a derisive noise in her throat. “I suppose this is what's to be expected when one sparkling is allowed to raise another,” she muttered, as though Starscream were not standing two feet away from her.

The usual diplomacy of high society would dictate that Starscream pretend he hadn't heard her and that the two of them continue making passive-aggressive comments at each other for the remainder of the meeting before eventually pretending to come to an arrangement of sorts and parting ways with nothing solved but at least enough points scored against each other to call it a day. It was a game he had played countless times before, but today, he was tired, his head was pounding, he knew he looked and smelled like scrap, and he had already been embarrassed and humiliated beyond what he could normally tolerate in an entire week.

“Senator,” he spat, an almost manic glint in his eye. “How is the weather in _Praxis_ this time of year?”

Liftright's eyes widened, then narrowed to almost slits as she tilted her head back to look down her nose at him. Young as he was, Starscream held an upper edge on most in the social games of high society thanks to the combined forces of an overly nosy aunt and an incredibly observant mother, both of whom had always been surprisingly ready to confide things in him. As an avid follower of the nobility's gossip himself, Torrent watched the two of them like a spectator at a lob-ball match, dying to know what could possibly be happening in Praxis. Bribes? Embezzlement? Or something more juicy, like a third player in Liftright's sparkbond?

“You don't frighten me,” the Senator hissed after a moment.

“No? Allow me to fix that,” the younger Seeker snapped, and Torrent found himself suddenly leaning across his desk in an attempt to get some part of his body between the two of them. As much as he'd like to hear this, the looks Starscream and Liftright were giving each other had made him painfully aware that, current functions aside, both of them came from prominent military families, and some of the decorations in his office were irreplaceable. Not to mention, there were still sparklings in the room.

“Now, now,” he said in his most soothing voice. “This is about Skywarp and Brightsky, not... Praxis—” Liftright shot him a withering look “—so why don't we show them how adults settle their differences, hmm?”

Both adults looked like they were about to give him a few colorful suggestions of their own, but then Liftright drummed her fingers on his desk a couple of times, huffed a cycle of air through her nose, and sank into the seat beside her daughter. A moment later, Starscream followed suit. Torrent fixed all of them with a benevolent smile before turning to Skywarp, who was still staring at his brother like he'd sprouted an extra set of arms.

“Skywarp, would you like to start us off by explaining to your brother what happened today?”

Skywarp quickly looked away as Starscream's eyes snapped to him and sighed dramatically. He was well-used to this procedure and had long since discovered that coming out with the truth from the beginning was the least painful course of action. “I cut off Brightsky's hair,” he muttered, and then added quickly, “But she asked me to!”

“Did not!” the little femmling screeched at him.

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did—”

Starscream snapped his fingers under his brother's nose, and Skywarp stopped mid-sentence. Torrent suppressed a smile as the image of Starscream's mother doing the same to him surfaced from the dregs of his memory files.

“I only said you could cut a little, butt-brain!” Brightsky concluded, sticking her tongue out.

“Watch your language!” Liftright snapped.

“Well, there you have it: she gave him permission, so no harm, no foul,” Starscream put in, tapping an impatient finger on his arm. “Are we done here, then?”

“No, we are most certainly not!” the senator shrieked. “She's a sparkling! She doesn't know what she wants, and even so, she said a little bit, and he chopped off the entire braid! How is that consensual?”

“You'd know better than I.”

Again, Liftright's eyes went wide, and this time, they did not narrow.

Oo. Something _really_ juicy was happening in Praxis. Sadly, Torrent's professional obligations prevented him from letting the conversation continue down that path.

“Senator, you and Brightsky are free to leave now,” he said quickly.

She looked for a moment like she wanted to protest—doubtless she had some choice words left to throw at her opponent—but suddenly the tension left her shoulders and she rose to her feet.

“I'll see you around, Starscream,” she hissed before taking her daughter's hand and pulling her along out of the office.

Starscream muttered something that sounded a bit like, “Not if I see you first,” as the door slammed shut behind her, and then turned to Torrent.

“Okay, let's get this over with,” he sighed. “What'll it be this time? Letter of apology? Community service?”

“But I didn't do anything wrong!” Skywarp wailed from beside him.

“Then we wouldn't _be_ here, now would we?” Starscream returned.

“You're a glitch head, Star!”

“Use language like that again and I'll wash your mouth with solvent when we get home!”

“Don't you dare! I'll... I'll... throw your books in the pool, aft-breath!”

“Go for it; they're all waterproof.”

“Alien face!”

“Midget!”

“Crooked wings!”

Torrent watched the juvenile argument progress without comment; it served perfectly to illustrate the point he was about to make. When Skywarp climbed on top of his chair and Starscream rose to his feet to regain his height advantage, though, the director finally cleared his throat pointedly.

“Skywarp,” he said as both brothers turned to glare at him. “Why don't you go wait with the receptionist? I'm sure she can get you a drawing pad if you ask her nicely.”

Starscream sputtered protests as the sparkling hopped off of his chair and disappeared through the office door.

“You know he's just gonna think that _I'm_ the one getting punished now, right?” he hissed, and the older Seeker smiled slightly.

“I'm not going to beat around the bush with you, Starscream, because I recall you were always quite bright.”

Crimson eyes narrowed, and Starscream slowly sank back into his chair.

“The thing is,” Torrent continued, “Senator Liftright is not the only one who has suggested you might be... _less than suited_ to raising your brother.”

No response other than a livid stare.

“Now, I realize that you yourself are going through quite a bit right now—”

“There is nothing wrong,” the Seeker's voice was icy cold, “with my mental state, if that's what you are implying.”

“It is normal to experience some instability after a significant loss, and there are those who think you have not taken sufficient measures to deal with it.” As he was not suicidal, Torrent neglected to mention that he was one of these.

“And what right do any of them have to tell me how to _deal_ with it?” Starscream's voice started to rise.

“Look,” Torrent said, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, “if you want to keep custody of your brother, then I suggest you start seeing a family therapist, and possibly a personal one, too. This would convince people that you are at least making an effort, and who knows? Maybe it will actually help.”

“Is that all?”

Torrent pulled a holocard from his desk and flicked it across to him. “That's the card for a highly respected facility in the upper East end. They're very confidential.”

The younger Seeker scowled at the little rectangle of light for a moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw, before pushing it aside and rising to his feet.

“I'll figure it out on my own,” he said. “Good day, Director.”

Starscream left the office to find Skywarp had apparently not felt like asking the receptionist politely, and was now kneeling on a chair by the reception room window, busy drawing what looked like mushroom clouds in the fog he had huffed onto the glass. The sparkling turned around with a mischievous grin on his face when he heard his brother come out.

“You got yelled at by the director,” he said in a low, gleeful voice.

“I did not. We were just talking about you,” Starscream lied. “Now, let's get going. We'll talk more about this when we get home.”

“Why do you smell like a dead turbo roach?” Skywarp demanded as he hopped down from the chair, doubtless referring to the scent of Kaon that still clung to his brother.

“Why do you know what a dead turbo roach smells like? Are you a professional turbo roach sniffer now?” Starscream shot back, and the smile slipped off the sparkling's face.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Well, you must be if you know that. Huh, roach sniffer?”

“Don't call me a roach sniffer!” Skywarp demanded, voice rising.

“Then don't tell me I smell like one! Come on, let's go.” He grabbed the pouting sparkling's hand and began tugging him toward the door, trying to ignore the scandalized look the receptionist was giving him.

 


	4. Which is Full of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, did you know you can put pictures on here????????

The transport dropped the two Seekers off at the back entrance to their family estate, towering high over the streets of Vos. Skywarp ran ahead to scurry through the door while Starscream paid the driver and sent him off. Once upon a time, they would have had their own private transports on call at all hours of the day, but he had gotten rid of all of the staff when he came home. He'd meant to hire new ones, but just hadn't gotten around to it, somehow.

Now, he bit back a groan as he stepped through the door and saw the daily energon delivery waiting for him just inside the entrance where he had put it that morning before rushing off to work. He would have to process it sometime that evening before going to bed. Or maybe they could get by on what they still had in the cooler. A quick look told him that they could if he skipped his evening fuel. With the way his internals were still flip-flopping every few minutes, he had no problem with that. It would make things easier if he just switched their deliveries over to pre-processed energon, but that too somehow just hadn't ever gotten done.

He looked around at the rest of the kitchen. There were stacks of empty energon crates in one corner of the room and used processor tubs were spilling out of the sink. Something sticky squeaked under his foot when he shut the cooler, but he was too tired to deal with it now. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been too tired to deal with it.

Before he left, he grabbed a bag of zinc chews out of the cupboard—for persuasion.

“Warp!” he called as he made his way into the back hall again. The sparkling had already retreated somewhere deep inside the house, and there was no reply.

Starscream heaved a sigh. He could feel his brother as a tight ball of resentment resting somewhere just behind his own spark. It was one of the trials of living with a sparkling, especially a sibling—they had no idea how to filter what they resonated over a bond, so close physical proximity meant sharing all of their irrational mood swings. He could close his own end of the bond, of course, but it was also useful in that it made it impossible for Skywarp to hide from him.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment until he got an impression of the smell of old datapads and books, thick plush carpeting still heavy with the scent of their father's cologne. The study.

As he passed into the entrance hall, there was a cacophony of skittering clicks on the main stairs, and a moment later, a bright orange Praxian tracker came bounding across the room toward him, several noble opallios struggling to keep up behind it on their stubby legs. The sound of general canine excitement echoed around the cavernous hall for several minutes as Starscream struggled to keep moving under the weight of their affection.

“Get down, Striker!” he snapped, shoving the tracker's pointed nose out of his face.

The dog sat obediently at his feet for a moment, until he walked on and it got up to trot after him. The opallios—Ruby and Pearl, his mother had called them—continued yipping around his heels until he clenched the bag of candy between his teeth and bent down to tuck one under each arm. They wriggled in his hold, trying to lick his face, as he climbed the stairs. He would need to get them fuel later, too.

The study was on the other end of the manor, its windows looking out on the lower sections of Vos sweeping out below them, rather than the glittering, gold and white spires of the city center visible from the front hall and the ballroom. The window was open when Starscream came in, its curtains rustling slightly in what little wind the holoscreen let through, and Skywarp was crouched in front of it with his chin resting on the sill. Striker went straight for him as soon as the door was open, and the sparkling made no acknowledgment of the dog as it began licking his hair up into spikes.

Starscream released the other two dogs so that they could join their fellow and took the zinc chews out of his mouth. For a moment, he just observed his brother. As frustrated as he was with him at the moment, he still had to fight the urge to pinch those pouty little cheeks.

“So,” he began. “You're a hairdresser now, are you?”

Skywarp made no reply, but he did pick up Ruby and pull her into his lap, working his pudgy hands into her thick, curly fur.

The older Seeker sank down onto the carpet, leaning his back against one of the bookshelves with a heavy sigh. He opened the bag of zinc chews and shook it a bit. Skywarp stiffened and turned ever so slightly. So predictable.

“You want one of these?”

The sparkling was at his side in an instant, along with all three dogs, but he held the bag out of their reach before Skywarp could grab one of the chews. “How do you ask?”

Skywarp sat back on his heels, his face a study in emotional conflict for a moment, before he muttered, “C'n I have one, please?”

Starscream held the bag out to him again, and he quickly snatched out one of the brightly colored candies. Temporarily forgetting that he wasn't feeling well, Starscream grabbed one too and popped it in his mouth. He regretted it instantly and spat it back into his hand. Striker was more than happy to relieve him of it.

“What's this?” Skywarp asked suddenly, reaching up to pat the bandage on his brother's head.

“Don't touch it!” Starscream hissed, pulling back. “It's a cut.”

“Can I see?” The sparkling's eyes were wide with excitement.

Starscream considered for a moment, and decided that anything that won him points with Skywarp had to be worth it; he needed this conversation to not devolve into shouting and petty insults again. He reached up and started peeling away the bandage, wincing as the adhesive caught on his skin and hair in places. Skywarp made a noise of awe as the whole grisly thing was laid bare.

“How did it happen?” he wanted to know.

“Someone threw something at me,” his brother answered vaguely.

“What are the black things?”

“Stitches.”

“What are they for?”

“They hold the skin together until it heals.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Like slag.”

Skywarp giggled. “You said a bad word, Star. Now you have to wash _your_ mouth with solvent!”

Woops. “Adults are allowed to use those words,” he said defensively.

“That's not fair. Can I have another chew?”

Starscream held the bag out, forgetting that he was supposed to make Skywarp say please first.

“So, why did you cut Brightsky's hair off?” he asked as the Seekerling popped another candy into his mouth.

“She said I could cut a little,” Skywarp insisted, suddenly turning sullen again. “And then she said to make it all the same, but when I did she got mad and called the teacher. Honest!”

“Alright, I believe you,” Starscream assured him. Well, at least his brother was learning early how fickle femmes could be. “But what about last week? Did the window in the art room ask you to break it just a little bit? And the week before—did Swirl _ask_ you to punch him in the stomach?”

“You already punished me for those. You're not allowed to punish me again,” Skywarp pointed out.

“I'm not... That's not the point!” Starscream snapped, and Skywarp recoiled from him slightly.

“Why do you always get angry?” he mumbled. “Daddy never gets angry.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not Dad,” his brother shot back, reflecting that his father must have softened quite a bit since he himself was a sparkling. “And I'm not angry, either. I'm just... frustrated.”

“You sound angry.”

“Look, Skywarp,” Starscream sighed, setting the bag of candy aside. Ruby and Pearl fell on it instantly, and he had to stop to snatch it up again. It was alright for Striker, but the smaller dogs couldn't handle zinc. The last thing he needed was the two of them purging all over the manor that evening. “The thing is, the people at the academy don't care why you're doing this stuff, they just don't like it when you cause problems for them. If you keep breaking rules, you're gonna get kicked out—you won't be allowed to go to school anymore.”

“Good. I don't like that place, and I don't like the other sparklings,” Skywarp huffed, folding his chubby arms across his chest.

“Yeah? Well, if you don't go to the academy, then you'll do school here, and _I'll_ be your teacher.”

He'd meant it as something of a threat, but the look of horror on his little brother's face still hurt.

“Go... change out of your school clothes,” he said, deciding that this conversation was over for now.

Skywarp got up to obey without complaint for once, and Ruby and Pearl went clicking out after him. Starscream stayed on the floor of the study, staring out the open window and absentmindedly stroking the larger dog pressed against his side.

Dogs were nice—loyal, obedient, affectionate. They would love you back just for an occasional pat and a regular fueling. Why couldn't sparklings be that easy?

 

* * *

 

“I saw your brother today.”

Thundercracker looked up and frowned at the femme who had just perched on the corner of his desk.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Really, T.C.?” Slipstream scoffed, tossing her hair back. “I've told you before that you should get a desk calendar at least if you're not gonna use your internal one.”

“I do have a desk calendar,” he said, using his light pen to push her butt off of it. “What are you on about?”

“You said last week that you could hang out with me tonight!” his cousin pouted as she dropped back to the floor.

Thundercracker searched his memory banks and found that he did have a vague recollection of the exchange. There had been something about her wanting a new dress for some occasion coming up that weekend. He recalled a lot of wailing and sniffling, too, so she must have broken up with her most recent boyfriend, which explained how she'd convinced him to say yes to going out with her.

“I'm busy right now. Come back in an hour,” he said, turning his gaze back to the stack of holofiles in front of him.

“We won't be able to finish before the shops close if we leave in an hour,” Slipstream whined, worming her way into his lap now. He let her because he knew she would be quieter if he did, even though this meant he now had to reach around her awkwardly to get at the form he was filling out.

One of the other lieutenants in Thundercracker's unit walked past the open door then and called a greeting to Slipstream. She twisted around in her cousin's lap to address the newcomer—a mech that Thundercracker had some notion he might have seen her talking to a lot at parties—and he took advantage of her distraction to finish a few more forms.

“T.C.?”

“Hm?” He looked up to find them both watching him expectantly.

“Are you going to that thing at Sweetrock's this weekend?” the other lieutenant repeated. “We all got invites because I guess the captain's friendly with him. Though I guess you probably would've gotten one anyway.”

“I hadn't really thought about it,” Thundercracker confessed.

“Oh, he'll be there,” Slipstream put in, throwing her arms possessively about his neck. “So will Starscream.”

Thundercracker wondered if his brother was aware of this yet, and then remembered what Slipstream had said when she'd first burst into his office. Once his colleague had left, he turned to her, craning his neck back awkwardly to do so.

“Which of my brothers did you see today?” he asked.

“The not cute one.”

Ah. “What's he up to?”

“He got attacked by a mob in Kaon today, and Aerial put him on leave. So, he's kinda pissy,” she said matter-of-factly. “Which is why we're gonna take him to that party.”

“Is he okay?” Thundercracker wanted to know.

“Oh, it wasn't bad. I was all worried because they said he passed out, but by the time I got there, he was sitting up and being a glitch just like normal.”

“Mm,” he grunted, and then he began pulling tentatively at Starscream's end of their bond just in case. There was a lot of emotion going on over there, but that was nothing new; that was just how he'd been ever since he got back. So, nothing he needed to strain his own limited emotional energy to worry about at the moment.

“Is the party what we're going shopping for tonight?” he asked, turning back to his cousin as he pushed his brother to the back of his mind once more. Her face lit up.

“So, you'll take me?” she squealed.

“Yes, yes, I'll take you,” he sighed, setting his pen aside. “A promise is a promise.”

She squealed even louder and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You're the best cousin!” she declared as she hopped back up to her feet. “If there were more mechs like you, I'd be bonded already.”

“As if,” he said, also getting up and stretching. “You're barely three million. No one's gonna bond with babies like us. Also, I'm mostly just sick of sitting at this desk.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she sniffed, turning to lead the way out of the office.

 

* * *

 

Starscream woke abruptly in the middle of the night and lay stock still for several minutes, staring blankly at the darkness around him. He didn't remember going to bed, though he did vaguely remember giving Skywarp his evening fuel and coming back to his own room to take a shower. Since he was still in his stained and rumpled work shirt, he must have lain down on the bed and never bothered to get up again. Now, he lifted a hand to his aching head and groaned.

He'd been having a nightmare, but whether it was actually his or one that Skywarp had leaked through to him, he couldn't tell. Either way, as he fought to bring his sparkbeat back to normal, he also had to resist the urge to walk down the hall to his brother's room and check on him. All prior attempts he had made at showing real affection to Skywarp, regardless of the circumstances, had been met with little more than revulsion.

If he'd ever talked to anyone about such things, he would have called it disheartening. Physical affection was an important part of building family bonds for Seekers, and he couldn't help but worry that something was going wrong between himself and Skywarp. It hadn't been like this with Thundercracker. When his other brother was a sparkling, Starscream had often been woken in the middle of the night by a small body wriggling into his bed, which frequently ended with both of them in their parents' bed. It was a custom that had ended up carrying into adulthood, in fact, though sometimes in reverse.

Maelstrom sometimes complained about how often he woke to find his sons squeezed in between himself and his conjunx, but since his usual reaction was to roll over and throw an arm or leg over whichever one was closest to him, neither of them took him very seriously. If he didn't want them there, he shouldn't have gotten a bed big enough for all four of them, Starscream had told him. It was one thing he always missed about home when he was away on expeditions—sleeping together in a messy heap, a parent pressed to him on one side and T.C. on the other, their sparks all humming comfortably across their family bonds.

Sometimes he would still dream that they were there with him, his mother caressing the hair back from his forehead as his father's deep voice rumbled through the mattress. They would talk quietly about politics, or gossip about their friends, or reminisce on things that happened long before he was born, and he would sleep to the sound of their familiar voices. It made it that much worse to wake alone, knowing that the only family member left in the house would probably try to claw his eyes out if he got too close.

He wasn't sure which was worse: when he woke wishing he could swap his reality for the dreams, or when he woke desperate to escape them. All he could do in either case was roll over and pretend that he might fall asleep again, knowing that he wouldn't. Tonight, he gave up after only half an hour or so and finally hauled himself to the shower.

He shuddered as the hot solvent hit his chilled skin, and then turned eagerly into the spray, wishing he could rinse away the stress of the day with the dried energon and residue of Kaon. Kaon...

For several minutes, he stood watching the solvent swirl down the drain as he thought about everything he had learned about the industrial city-state today. Of course, everyone knew that life in Kaon was not as pleasant, but it was just a fact—not something to think about. The people who lived in Kaon had been protoformed to live there; it was their Primus-given function to toil day in and day out amidst the filth and the fumes. If they also happened to have unusually high suicide rates and a rampant drug trade among other issues, well, then maybe that was their function as well. If nothing else, it served to show others what they had to be grateful for in life, as his father had always explained it. But...

The image of the sparkling he'd met that day popped into his mind again—Knockdown, or Kick Off, or whatever his name had been. _He_ wasn't protoformed for Kaon. He hadn't been protoformed at all, for that matter. And what about his mother? Had Primus intended for her to be taken advantage of and left to die bringing such a conundrum into the world?

He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair as though he could remove the thoughts that way. Some of the solvent ran into his cut and he hissed as it started to sting. Outburst had said something to him about keeping the cut dry to avoid rust, but he couldn't see how he was supposed to wash his hair without getting it wet. He had already called for their family medic to come take a look at it tomorrow, anyway.

Eventually, he turned the spray off and wandered back out into his bedroom. He felt fresher, but the clenching in his stomach that he always got in the middle of the night was still there.

As he was on his way to flop naked and dripping wet back onto his bed, his foot hit something and he swore as he stumbled in the dark—unsurprising really, giving the state of his room. His flailing hand found his bedside table, and he crept along it until he felt the switch for the lamp. The light revealed his suitcase from his trip to Altihex, still lying open and half-unpacked in the middle of the floor. He sighed and reached into it. If he was awake, he might as well do something useful.

When he picked up the first shirt (one he had let sit there for so long because it was such a ghastly shade of green), something slid out of the folds of fabric and thumped back into the suitcase. He looked down curiously and saw the book of poems he'd bought to read on the transport. He'd completely forgotten about it.

The slim volume fit comfortably in his hand as he picked it up and flicked through its pages. Books were a waste of resources, he knew, but they were so much more satisfying to hold than a datapad.

He stopped as a snippet of one of the verses caught his eye:

 

_All this, you say, will carve us as instruments_

_Fit to play the songs of life_

_To raise misery into a symphony_

_In harmony with light._

 

He snorted before flipping the page, remembering that he'd thought when he first read it that it sounded like the kind of sentimental turbobull scrap that T.C. had taken to spouting lately, though with much more flowery wording, of course. He couldn't help but feel it wasn't up to snuff with the other poems in the book, either; its metaphors were too obvious and it lacked a solid rhythm or rhyme. No, he preferred the rest, even the other outlier, entitled “The Wait,” which was a gritty depiction of a gladiator on standby to enter the ring. The poet had used the weight of his sword as a metaphor for the lives he'd taken throughout his career. An obvious pun, perhaps, but well-executed, nonetheless.

Starscream flipped to the poem now, grateful for the distraction from his earlier thoughts. As he read through it, his mind drifted back to the gladiator he'd met earlier that day—Megatron. Regardless of his battle scars, Starscream couldn't imagine such an eloquent, well-read mech being the sort who would kill for sport. He decided that Megatron must be the sort of gladiator who avoided the death matches, like the hero Archaeus that his mother used to tell stories about—a noble warrior forced to fight for the sake of those he loved without taking any pleasure in it. It was a romantic notion that he decided would suit his handsome gladiator nicely.

He let himself smile at the thought before turning to the next poem, losing himself in the little tales of everyday life, each with a hidden, deeper meaning waiting to be discovered.

He'd always liked poetry; his mother often read it to him. She wouldn't have approved of this poet's style, he didn't think, but he did. Their words fell on his mind in drops and bursts of condensed images only to explode out in places with sections of passionate verse that put him in mind of the old epics, and as he read on, for once, he was okay with the fact that he wasn't going to get any more sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

Saturday afternoon found Thundercracker returning to his childhood home for the first time since... Well, he was certain he must have stopped by to visit at _some_ point since Starscream came back, but he couldn't think when.

The first thing he noticed was that the hanging sterling trees in the front of the manor were in desperate need of a trim; they'd practically grown over the entire entrance. He and Slipstream had to make their way around to the back instead.

“What in the Pit have the cleaning 'bots been doing?” Slipstream demanded in disgust when they stepped through. The back entry was ripe with the scent of over-crystallized energon, and there was a fine collection of small footprints leading down the hall that Thundercracker knew his mother never would have allowed to marr her carpets for long, even in what was technically the servants' section of the house.

“I think,” he said as he made his way inside, pausing briefly to frown at the debris in the kitchen, “that they may not have been here for a while.”

“How gruesome,” Slipstream remarked as she too peaked inside. “Well, at least they can't have destroyed too much of the house between just the two of them. Where are they?”

Her question was partly answered a moment later when the door at the end of the hall crashed open and Skywarp came rocketing through it, followed by Striker.

“T.C.!” the sparkling squealed in delight, launching himself at his brother. Thundercracker caught him and spun him around with equal delight, nearly tripping on the over-excited canid in the process.

“Missed you!” the older Seeker declared, pressing a sloppy kiss to his brother's cheek. “Ugh! But what are you covered in?”

Skywarp laughed as Thundercracker fervently wiped his mouth. “I was painting the ballroom and I saw you come in on the security,” he replied.

“Does Starscream know?” Slipstream asked, her eyebrows shooting up as she finally saw the paint splatters that both of them had missed in the half light of the hall.

“He's still asleep,” Skywarp whispered conspiratorially. “But he'll like it. He likes red.”

“I see,” Thundercracker said, exchanging a look with his cousin. “Er, why don't you show Slipstream your project, and I'll go wake up Starscream.”

“No!” Skywarp yelped, wrapping himself suddenly around his brother like a limpet. “Don't wake him up yet! He'll make me stop!”

“I thought you said he was going to like it,” Thundercracker wheezed, the sparkling's shoulder digging into his throat.

“Oh, don't you worry about it, Warp,” Slipstream said, moving to unwrap his arms so that Thundercracker could get some fresh air. “I'm sure T.C. can keep him upstairs long enough that we can finish together.”

Thundercracker sincerely hoped that she wasn't actually planning on painting his family's ballroom. It had been a rather tasteful ivory with gold accents as long as he could remember, and he'd prefer it stayed that way. But he would have to survey that damage later. For now, he pushed Skywarp off on Slipstream, assuring him that he would indeed keep Starscream out of the way for the next hour, at least, and made his way up the back stairs while the other two headed for the ballroom, Striker trotting along with them.

He was ever so slightly put out by that. Striker was technically his dog, after all, but that was what he got for never being home, he supposed.

There was no answer when he knocked on Starscream's door, even after he pounded on it so hard he half-expected it to cave in. With a sigh of exasperation, he reached over and wrenched the cover off the control panel. It took only a second or two to rearrange the wires inside so that the door unsealed and started to slide open. He pushed his way through before it had finished.

“Star! What the Pit were you thinking, locking yourself in here!? What if Skywarp—” He stopped short as he realized that the lump in the bed was not, in fact, his brother, but simply the covers, bunched up and shoved aside. There was a good amount of debris lying on the bed as well as thrown about the room—clothes, books, empty energon cubes, even what looked like jars and bags of samples from his expeditions.

“Star?” he called, turning about slowly in the middle of the space. There was no reply. He tried the bathroom, but that was also empty.

Thundercracker frowned, chewing his lip for a moment while he tried to decide whether to be angry or concerned. He tentatively prodded through their bond. There was no reply, which could mean that either his brother was ignoring him, or he really was asleep somewhere. A second, more intense prod got him a rush of garbled impressions, and he realized where Starscream was. He sighed again and headed out down the hallway.

The door to their parents' room was not locked, but he paused on the threshold as it slid open. This had been a place of refuge his entire life, but now every inch of the room was saturated with ghosts. The last time he was in here, his mother had been sitting there by the vanity, spraying herself in a cloud of her favorite perfume. He could still smell it, he realized, and almost expected her to come drifting out of the bathroom and ask him to fasten up the back of her dress.

He walked toward the bathroom now, ignoring the small lump under the covers of the bed as he did, and flicked on the light to illuminate the palatial space. It looked like nothing had been touched; they might have just walked out of it on their way to meet with friends. His father's razor was still sitting by the sink instead of in its ornamental stand, a few dark hairs clinging to the blades, and his mother's favorite lilac towel was lying in a heap on the floor by the tub. Thundercracker leaned against the doorway for a while, just taking it in, until a muffled snort from the room behind him pulled him back to reality.

Starscream was lying sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the bed, fast asleep. He somehow looked even smaller than he had the last time Thundercracker had seen him, but that could have just been because the bed was so large. What was definite was the shadow of stubble on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the positively grisly bruise around the cut on his forehead, which ought to have been under some sort of bandage.

Thundercracker made his way over to the bed and climbed into it, not bothering to take his shoes off. He settled down on top of the covers just beside his brother, who shifted slightly without waking. There was a certain reek about him, but not of high-grade, as Thundercracker had feared. It was just the general smell of a mech who hadn't showered in far too long. He noticed a book lying next to his hand as though it had slipped out when he fell asleep. It was a small book, slightly old, with nothing but the words “About Life” stamped across its cover. He picked it up and flipped through it, surprised to find it contained nothing but poems. It had been a while since he'd seen Starscream reading anything other than scientific texts.

After another minute or two, he reached over and laid a hand on his brother's back.

“Star?” he called softly, and then a bit louder when he got no reply. Starscream continued to sleep, so he gave him a good shake.

Starscream woke with a sharp gasp and a violent jerk. The blurry, confused look on his face as he pushed himself up onto his elbows would have made Thundercracker laugh under normal circumstances.

“Oh, it's you,” Starscream mumbled after a moment of staring at him, and then flopped back down on the pillow as if planning to fall asleep again.

“What time did you go to sleep last night?” Thundercracker asked before he could.

“This morning. After I got Warp his breakfast,” came the muffled reply.

“When did you start sleeping in here?”

There was a long pause this time, and Thundercracker reached over to shake him again, thinking he'd fallen asleep after all.

“Get off! A few days ago. What do you care?” Starscream snapped, shoving him away.

“I just don't want you to get Mom and Dad's room looking like yours.”

His brother glared at him, the circles under his eyes and his wild hair making it more impressive than usual.

“I was just making a joke,” Thundercracker sighed.

“It wasn't funny.”

“What's this book?” the younger Seeker asked, looking for a change of subject.

“Just something I found,” his brother mumbled, snatching it back. “Go play with Warp, or something. I'm sleeping.”

“Slipstream's with him, and I think you've slept enough for one day,” Thundercracker said, tugging the covers off. Starscream hissed, curling into a tight ball with his back to Thundercracker as the cold air assaulted him. He hadn't been wearing much beneath the covers.

“Why is Slipstream here?” he whined.

“We're going out tonight. You too. We already got a sitter for Warp.”

There was a pause, and then Starscream turned to him, a look of utter horror stamped across his face. “You traitor,” he hissed.

“Starscream—”

“No! I can't believe you would conspire against me with that... that... _mother of scraplets!_ ”

Thundercracker frowned, hoping that Starscream didn't use that kind of language around Skywarp. “Oh, come on! You love going to parties!”

“Well, I don't anymore! Get out! I don't wanna go! I don't feel good!” he rolled back over onto his face, trying to pull the blankets out of Thundercracker's grasp to recover himself. He gave this up quickly as an exercise in futility and just laid there, pouting at the lamp on their father's nightstand.

“It might be fun,” Thundercracker wheedled. There was no answer. He reached over and ran a finger down one of the red and white strips of metal curling between his brother's shoulder blades and down his back—his wings. Starscream shivered, but didn't push him away, so he persisted, shifting so that he could dig his knuckles into the pliable metal and ease out the stiffness. He doubted Starscream had gone flying anytime in the last few days.

“You need a shower either way,” he said after a while. “You smell like the locker room at the barracks.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Starscream finally sighed. He sat up and Thundercracker started edging him out of the bed. “But I'm not going to that party.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick credit: I am a novelist and not a poet for a reason... That snippet of poetry I put in there is partly inspired by a song by Vienna Teng called "Eric's Song." Beautiful song.


	5. In Which Starscream Is Compelled to Believe in Fate

“Just for the record, I hate you both,” Starscream muttered, pressing close to his brother and cousin as they climbed the steps to Governor Sweetrock's manor.

Steps—no matter how many times he'd been there, he never got over how pretentious those steps were. There were fifty of them, each a solid slab of obsidian shined and polished to perfection. The governor had put them in for the express purpose of reminding his fellow Seekers how far above them he was as they _walked_ up his stairs, Starscream was sure.

Not that all of the guests at Sweetrock's famous millennial birthday celebrations were Seekers. There were a good number of non-Vossians mixed in among the figures making their way up the stairs, their colorful formalwear throwing muted rainbows up and down the dark glass of the ascent. Starscream wondered which of them would be the one to tumble back down the stairs in an overcharged stupor later that evening. There was always at least one.

“Oh, just shut up and try to look functional,” Slipstream hissed back at him without dropping the bright smile she was aiming at the other party guests around them. She was a small curve of teal tonight, her dress clinging to her figure in a way that Starscream imagined a good many mechs probably found irresistible.

“You'll be just fine,” Thundercracker assured him. “Just smile and keep your mouth shut.”

“And if anyone asks you to dance, just say yes. I don't care who it is,” Slipstream added.

“I'm not dancing with anyone!” Starscream snapped.

They came level with the doormech then, and Slipstream pulled a mini datapad from her clutch. She flashed him their invitations, and he waved them through. Starscream had maintained hope for a while that perhaps Slipstream wouldn't be able to find his invitation and he would be saved, but she was better at recovering files from the family mailbox's trash than he'd given her credit for.

As they passed into the entrance hall, Thundercracker took Starscream by the shoulders and pushed him in front of himself. Whether it was because he was worried about losing his smaller brother in the crowd of socialites packed in there or to prevent him bolting back out the door, Starscream wasn't sure.

“I'm going to find Sunder. Comm me if you need me,” Slipstream said, giving Thundercracker's arm a squeeze before flouncing away.

Who Sunder was, Starscream didn't know, but he relaxed a little once she was gone—people tended to talk to him and Thundercracker markedly less when they weren't with Slipstream. He let his brother steer him through the entrance hall, nodding and smiling vaguely at mechs and femmes they knew, and they managed to make it all the way into the assembly room without consequence.

“Now, this is more like it,” Starscream said, slipping out from under his brother's hands at last and heading for one of many tables stacked with cubes of artistic high grade.

“Don't get carried away,” Thundercracker warned, staying one step behind him.

“You promised me Sweetrock's infamous overstocked high grade supply if I came, and I'm not leaving without sampling it.” Starscream selected two small cubes and handed one over. “Do you remember—”

“His 20 millionth? Better than you do.”

“I remember it was totally worth it.”

“Mom's dress?”

“The stain came out in the end.”

Starscream knocked his cube back and made an appreciative sound.

Thundercracker swirled his own cube a few times before also gulping it down. His customary frown instantly deepened. It was good stuff, so full of minerals that he could barely even taste the high grade, but that didn't mean the high grade wasn't there. A mech could easily down half his weight in those without realizing how badly he was overcharging himself.

Starscream was already moving off for some cubes on another table that were glowing acid green.

Thundercracker looked around hastily, grabbed a cube of what he recognized as regular, slow-burning mercury malt, and shoved it into his brother's hand. “Let's go see what he's done with the garden this millennium.”

“Killjoy,” Starscream muttered, but accepted the offer nonetheless. He'd never been able to resist a good mercury malt.

They progressed out of the assembly room and into the conservatory. No one tried to talk to them all they way out to the veranda overlooking the gardens, which trailed their way down the steep gradient all the way back to the lower districts of Vos. At the moment, they were glittering from top to bottom with animated light sculptures of Seekers performing elaborate aerial maneuvers.

“I can do that,” Starscream said, gesturing with his cube to a particular sculpture as it corkscrewed up, transformed to bipedal mode, swan-dived, and then swept up into jet mode again at the last moment.

Thundercracker just gave him a look.

“I can!”

“Let me guess: on Sargel IV, where the gravity is half of Cybertron's.”

“Skyfire got a video of it.”

“Have you talked to him lately?”

Starscream huffed and took a gulp of high grade.

“Seriously? I thought you two were practically together.”

“That was a while ago.”

“He was good for you.”

“Didn't like the way he touched me.”

“Didn't need to know that.”

“Not...! Never mind. Think what you want.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Starscream leaned forward on the balcony railing, the high grade he was sipping doing nothing to relieve the tension in his narrow shoulders. Thundercracker lounged back beside him, half a head taller and half again as broad, one leg crossed over the other as he watched people moving in and out of the conservatory. The two of them hardly looked like brothers at first glance, but further inspection would reveal the similarity in the tilt of their heads, the twin creases in their eyebrows, the shape of their hands, and the other tiny eventualities of genetics that had tied their sparks together. Or the designs of fate, depending on which one you asked.

All at once, Thundercracker straightened up, and a devious smile flashed across his face for the briefest of moments.

“Well, there are still chances for romance here on Cybertron, of course,” he remarked.

Starscream gave him a disinterested sidelong glance. “Spot an old flame or something?”

“Yeah, but not mine.”

The smaller Seeker choked on his drink and whipped around to see an obnoxiously good-looking Seeker mech in an emerald green suit making a beeline for them through the conservatory. He cast a frantic look up at his brother, the corner of whose mouth twitched ever so slightly.

“Well, it's too late now; he's already seen you,” Thundercracker told him in a low voice.

“IhateyouIhateyouIhate—”

“Staaaaar, darling! It's been _ages_!” And the other mech was spinning him around and pulling him into an enthusiastic embrace.

“Steelrim,” Starscream muttered stiffly. There were precious few people outside of his immediate family allowed to use the shortened form of his name, and Steelrim always refused to remember that he had been stricken from the list back when they were about 50.

“How've you been, buddy? I've been worried about you ever since... you know.” Steelrim held his captive out at arm's length so that he could look him over. “What happened to your head?”

“I fell down the stairs,” Starscream invented, shrugging Steelrim's large hands off his shoulders. “I didn't think you'd be here tonight.” _I definitely wouldn't have come if I'd thought you'd be here tonight._

“Ream gave me the night off for once. How you doing, T.C.?”

“Thundercracker.”

“Hm?”

“My name is Thundercracker.”

There was an awkward pause, during which Starscream had to fight not to grin, and then Steelrim regained himself.

“So, my parents just bought this new place over on the edge of the Acid Wastes,” he announced. “It's real nice—kind of old school. There's a huge yard, and nobody else around for forever. Great place for flying—the sunsets are amazing!”

“That's cool,” Starscream said, hoping that his face would betray his true thoughts on the matter.

“Yes, well, I've been thinking, and if you ever wanted to... you know... relieve some stress, get away for a bit...”

One of Starscream's eyebrows shot up. Steelrim had never been one for subtlety, but making oblique propositions at him in front of his little brother was a new low.

“I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to leave Skywarp for that long,” he said flatly.

“Ah, well... We'll figure things out eventually,” the other Seeker assured him, a hand coming up as though to brush Starscream's cheek.

“So, Steelrim,” Thundercracker cut in before his brother could do something unseemly, like sinking his teeth into an old classmate's hand. “It's Senator Ream who's reviewing the budget for the Air Command right now, yes?”

“Indeed!” Steelrim said, attention effectively diverted. If there was one thing that he found more irresistible than Starscream, it was reminding everyone of how incredibly important he was. “We've been working on it nonstop for the last three months, and let me tell you; it's a nightmare! I don't even know what half of these things are that you fellows want!”

“Ah, well, that explains a lot,” Thundercracker muttered.

“You wouldn't happen to know what fission goggles are, would you?”

The younger Seeker hesitated just slightly, and Starscream sent him a pulse through their bond, one that clearly said, “Distract him! Please!”

“Yeah, actually,” Thundercracker said. “Let me tell you about it.”

And while he launched into a lengthy explanation of fission goggles and their many uses, Starscream carefully edged away, sending another pulse of gratitude as he did. Steelrim didn't even notice when he slipped behind him and back into the conservatory, venting a sigh of relief as he did. Being small did have its advantages at times.

Of course, Steelrim was partly his own fault. Eons ago, when they were still sparklings, Starscream had made a promise to bond with him someday, and the idiot thought that it still held. He didn't know how to take "no" for an answer, which was probably what had gotten him assigned to politics.

“Starscream!”

Another voice hailed him now, and Starscream turned, halfway through a sip of his high grade. He had wandered into a drawing room at some point without noticing, and now a group of his father's old lieutenants was waving at him from a circle of armchairs and sofas across the way. He forced himself to head for them.

“No, it was rubbish, utter rubbish! You wouldn't believe the sort of thing that passes for theater these days,” one of them was saying when he reached them. “Starscream, bitlet, have you seen this new production? Some dramatization of the Rust Plague, would you believe it?”

As the speaker was Rampant, one of his father's oldest friends, Starscream forgave him the “bitlet” remark and quirked a smile.

“I'm afraid I haven't had much time for entertainment of late,” he confessed.

“Of course! Bit of a firebrand, your new brother; got Maelstrom's fighting spirit. Well, we're glad that you managed to get away from domestic duties tonight,” Rampant chuckled, reaching up from his spot on the couch to take Starscream's wrist. “We've been worried about you, bitlet. Been back for more than six months now and haven't shown your face in public once? It's not like you at all.”

They were all staring at him now with eyes full of sympathy.

“I'm getting on,” Starscream said, downing the rest of his high grade in one long gulp. Unfortunately, it hadn't enough to give him more than a slight buzz.

“Come on and have a seat for a little,” Rampant insisted, tugging on the younger Seeker's wrist and shuffling aside to make room.

Starscream considered protesting, but then realized this was probably the best balance he was going to get between “looking functional,” as Slipstream had put it, and outright avoiding social interaction all night. He knew these mechs, and knew that they would be content to sit here and chat the entire evening without anything more than the occasional nod or grunt of agreement from him. So, he sank down beside Rampant and swirled the melting ice in his finished cube while the soldiers began reminiscing on the horrors of the Rust Plague that had robbed Cybertron of her colonies five million years ago.

“It's important you young ones remember about all this,” one of them said, leaning across to clap Starscream on the knee. “Can't go forgetting all the ones we lost. They might still be out there, after all!”

“Oh, yes, for sure,” he agreed around the ice he was crunching. “Terrible tragedy.”

“He knows all about it—he worked for Altihex until just recently,” another one reminded the first.

“Switching functions; now there's something a good many low-casters would give half their sparks to do,” Rampant sighed. “I hear rumors of unease rising again in some areas.”

“Oh, there's always unrest in Kaon. Just give it a few years and it'll settle down again.”

A sudden thought occurred to Starscream and he regarded the assembled mechs carefully. They were all 'bots he had known since sparkhood. Most of them had been along with his parents in the batch of younglings drafted to fight in the Quintesson War. His father had always trusted them, had always spoken highly of them.

“Just out of curiosity,” he said slowly, keeping his eyes on the final bit of ice in his cube, “have any of you ever heard of half-Seekers in the low castes, especially in Kaon?”

The group went silent, and Starscream could sense that all eyes had snapped to him. He looked up slightly to meet their gazes. A moment of tension passed, and then someone cleared his throat.

“Did you see that gold number that Frontline showed up in? I tell you, she's living up to her name tonight!”

And just like that, the conversation swept on as though he hadn't said anything. He blinked in confusion, and then felt Rampant lean closer.

“Best to forget about it, son,” he muttered, giving the younger Seeker's arm a brief squeeze before adding his own opinion on the revealing fashions that modern femmes were favoring.

Well, okay, then. Starscream was just thinking about hunting down some more high grade to help him process this odd development when something seized the collar of his jacket from behind.

“Star! Star, Star, Star!” Slipstream's excited voice hissed in his ear.

“What?” he demanded, tugging himself out of her grip.

“I found... Oh, just come on! You'll never believe it!” she squealed, now bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

He narrowed his eyes at her, not particularly inclined to accept her invitation, until Rampant gave a hearty laugh and worked a hand behind him to shove him off the couch. “Go on! You can come back and rust with us later if you like.”

So, he reluctantly allowed his cousin to drag him back out into the entrance hall, up the grand stairs, and into a second, longer assembly hall, this one with a great number of stained glass windows along its length, depicting famous scenes from legends and myths. It was lit in such a way that the colors of the glass bounced round the room, covering everything in rainbows. With the swirl of colors from the assembled mechs' and femmes' clothes, the effect was slightly dizzying.

The main attraction of the room seemed to be the rows of tables laden with various confections and iced energons. Caterers also weaved through the crowd with trays of high grade to wash down the sweets.

“If this is about a copper ice, Slipstream, I swear—” Starscream began, but she cut him off with an impatient flap of her hand.

“Look, look, look!” she hissed, pointing across the room.

He frowned and leaned a little closer so that he could follow the direction of her finger. At first, he couldn't figure what she was talking about—all he saw were other party guests in swirls of golds and reds and greens—but then his eyes locked onto a tall, broad figure in a deep red suit standing near the far side of the room, apparently deep in conversation with a couple of senators. A tall, broad figure with silver hair and a shockingly attractive, scarred face.

“No,” he breathed, his spark starting to spin faster than he'd thought it capable.

“Yes, it is!” Slipstream giggled manically. “Turns out Sweetrock is a fan of the rings, and our friend Megatron is his favorite contestant.”

“But... he's a gladiator! Is that allowed?” Starscream wondered, watching as the mech who'd been gracing his daydreams for the better part of the last week shifted slightly to face a different member of the conversation, the colored light from the window beside him turning his hair red, then blue, then purple by turns. As a scientifically-minded individual, Starscream had never bought into things like fate or destiny, but this turn of events was making a compelling argument in their favor.

“We're high-casters; anything is allowed,” his cousin scoffed. “I dare you to go over there and talk to him.”

“What!?”

“Go, go, go!” she insisted, pushing on him.

“No! No, no, no! That is _not_ what I came here for!” he protested, pushing back.

“That's never what you go anywhere for, Starscream,” she pointed out. “It's about time you broke your seal.”

His face flushed all the way to the roots of his dark hair. “I am not...! I... You... Just because...!”

“Yes, you are. T.C. told me,” she interrupted his indignation.

“Well, I'm not going to proposition a fragging _gladiator_ that I barely know!” he hissed, making a mental note to slip something organic in his brother's energon first chance he got.

“Why not? It'll be easy. Just go over there and drop something. From the way he was ogling you back in Kaon, I bet he'll do the rest of the work. And send me pics.”

“You're disgusting. And when did he ever ogle me!?”

“Only every time your back was turned,” she sniffed.

Starscream didn't believe her for an instant. It wouldn't be the first time that Slipstream had used flattery to maneuver him into a compromising situation.

“I doubt he even remembers me,” he sniffed, as much to himself as to Slipstream.

“Primus, Star! You are the most self-deprecating narcissist I have ever met! You're fragging gorgeous. No one's ever gonna forget your face!”

“We have the same face.”

“I know, and I'm determined for at least one of us to score that beast.”

“Then do it yourself!”  
  
“Can't. I've got the wrong angles. Now, get that pretty little aft of yours over there!”

“I can't—”

“Steelrim just walked in.”

Starscream was halfway across the room already before he thought to turn around and see if it was true. Sadly, it was. The oblivious mech was standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips as he scanned the room. Of course, Thundercracker would only have been able to keep him at bay for so long. Starscream swore under his breath and hurried the rest of the way across the floor. If nothing else, maybe he could surreptitiously position himself behind Megatron and his would-be suitor wouldn't notice him.

Unfortunately, the closer he got, the less cooperative his legs became. What if Megatron really didn't remember him? How embarrassing would that be? Not to mention the rumors that would fly if those senators caught on to _why_ he was talking to the gladiator. Although... the senators... Hmm.

He set his empty cube on a passing caterer's tray and grabbed a fresh one so that he would have something to do with his hands. Then, he strode a bit shakily to the more familiar of the two senators, memory banks locking onto an appropriate conversation starter.

“Senator Downdraft! My cousin tells me congratulations are in order since I last saw you,” he said as he came up on the older mech's side. The senator started, but recovered quickly.

“Starscream! Always good to see one of Daybreak and Maelstrom's boys around,” he beamed, throwing an arm over the smaller Seeker's shoulders for a moment. “And yes! Little Redsky is already a year old, if you can believe it. Though, your parents hit the beginning of this wave, didn't they? How old is... what's his name again?”

“Skywarp.”

“That's it! Got your mother's talent, didn't he? How old is he now?”

“He'll be six in another month.”

Starscream finally deigned to glance in Megatron's direction and nearly swallowed his own tongue as their eyes met. He'd forgotten how beautifully intimidating the gladiator was up close.

“You clean up nicely, Starscream,” Megatron said, a smile ghosting across his lips.

Well, at least he remembered him.

“Are the two of you acquainted?” the other senator, Backup, wanted to know.

“We met when I was on assignment in Kaon earlier this week,” Starscream explained, his voice box betraying him so that it came out at only half the intended volume.

“Lucky you!” Downdraft chuckled. “Megatron is quite the celebrity in the gladiator circuit. Just broke Ferocitor's record for longest winning streak ever.”

“You don't say,” Starscream murmured, trying to avoid said celebrity's piercing gaze. Why was he just staring at him like that? Slipstream wasn't right for once, was she?

“And he's a bit of a scholar, would you believe it?” the senator continued. “Imagine: a gladiator who can recite the Covenant!”

“Scholarly and artistic functions may be restricted to the high castes, but no one ever said that appreciation of them was.”

It took Starscream a moment to realize that he was the one who had said it. There was the briefest of pauses before Downdraft's cultured laughter broke the tension.

“You mistake me, boy. The surprise is merely that he finds the time. I wish I could spare a bit for poetry myself. It's an excellent way to turn up the romance, isn't it, Megatron?”

Starscream risked a glance up at the gladiator, whose gaze snapped briefly to the senator before finding its preferred target once more.

“Regent's sonnets are often a favorite,” he rumbled. “What about you, Starscream? You're named from the most famous love poem of all time. Surely, you have some favorite verses.”

“Oh, well...” He was trying to consciously will the energon out of his face when a thought occurred to him. “Actually, there's a poet I've taken a liking to lately, but I don't know the name. Perhaps you do?”

“Depends. What's he written?”

And Starscream relaxed a bit, congratulating himself on how close this was coming to carrying an actual conversation. “It was this volume I found in a used book shop a few months ago—little green thing called _About Life_. It's a bit modern, not exactly romance, but I can't get enough of it. I was thinking...”

He trailed off because Megatron's eyebrows had just shot up into his hairline and his mouth dropped open slightly.

“Do you know it, then?”

“Does it have a poem in there called 'The Wait?'” Megatron wanted to know.

“Primus, he really is an expert!” Backup exclaimed when Starscream confirmed that it did indeed.

“I'm afraid I have to disappoint there,” the gladiator said, collecting himself. “I know the book, but don't recall the poet.”

“This reminds me,” Backup put in. “You know old Restore down at the Vossian Archives? I was talking with him the other day while I was waiting for some records to pull, and come to find out—You know that disease you get from cybertick bites?”

“Archoid Fever?” Starscream supplied.

“Yes, well, he says to me that he had it recently only he was never bitten by a cybertick. Turns out you can get it just from having one of the buggers crawl over you or something!”

“Dear me!” Downdraft exclaimed. “I'll have to tell Windup to be extra careful with Red!”

Starscream nearly gagged on his drink again from the sheer _wrongness_ of it. “No, sorry, but you _cannot_ get Archoid Fever by _touching_ a cybertick,” he assured them.

“Restore is a smart mech, though. I don't think he'd get that sort of thing wrong.”

Starscream snorted slightly, forgetting completely that he was supposed to be charming and impressive right now in favor of carrying out his Primus-given duty of correcting the stupidity and ignorance before him. “Look, Archoid Fever is caused by plasmodon borellaxis, parasitic nanites that live inside of cyberticks— _inside of_ , not on. The cybertick has to latch on and _stay_ latched on for almost a full day before it transfers enough nanites to cause an infection.”

“Ah, of course. You were assigned to the scientific sector, weren't you?” Backup sniffed with all the politeness of a high-caste upbringing.

“I thought you were a cultural investigator,” Megatron put in.

“Temporary reassignment. Can't raise a sparkling from across the galaxy,” Starscream explained.

“Speaking of which,” Downdraft said, clapping his hands together in sudden realization. “Perhaps you can settle a little debate we were having the other day.”

Starscream turned to him, eyebrows raised in question, more than ready for a challenge.

“See, there's this theory running around that we'll be seeing sentient life on organic planets within the next few million years—you've probably heard it—and I say why not, but Backup here...”

“Definitely not. The so-called science of it is laughable,” the other senator cut in, shaking his head.

“Oh, well, it's good to know we have senators with enough scientific training to rule out Perceptor's Law of Eternal Progression as 'laughable,'” Starscream scoffed.

“You think it'll happen, then?” Megatron wanted to know.

“I don't see why not,” the Seeker shrugged. “We were surprised when the Quintessons showed up, too, weren't we?”

“But the science...” Backup tried again.

So, Starscream told him the science; laying out each piece of it, turning it about so that Backup could get a good look, and then sending it on its way with a little flourish and a pat for a job well done. It took a while, as organic evolution was a complicated subject, but he made sure that there was enough there to leave no doubt that Backup was wrong, so wrong, thank you very much, and try again. And it was so utterly satisfying to talk about something he knew inside and out for the first time in months that he didn't even notice the glassy looks creeping over all their faces until he was wrapping up.

“Though, of course, my specialties lie in chemistry and geology, so... you know...” he finished lamely, burying himself in his current cube of high grade and the increasing buzz it was giving him.

“Well, I'd say that settles it,” Downdraft said, blinking rapidly as he turned back to Megatron. “I've just spotted someone else I need to catch up with. Excuse me.”

Backup murmured something as well and the two of them both disappeared into the crowd. Starscream felt his cheeks burn. He had spent too much of the last decade on a ship full of scientists, it seemed. Any second now, Megatron was also going to make an excuse to get away from his overzealous passion for the building blocks of the material world, and he hadn't had enough high grade yet to deal that kind of rejection. Best to beat him to the chase.

“I... need to find my brother,” he mumbled.

“I didn't think this was the sort of party that accepted sparklings,” Megatron mused.

“Other brother. Good to see you again.” And he too slipped into the crowd. He was almost out the door before Slipstream appeared at his elbow again.

“Why are you running away?” she hissed as they found themselves back in the hallway.

“I'm not. I'm making a tactical retreat,” he insisted.

“Sure, sure.”

“I fobbed it up, okay! It was going fine, we were discussing poetry—he likes poetry, I like poetry—and then those blasted senators tricked me into talking about science!”

“Ah,” Slipstream said knowingly. “And you called them all—what was it again? Illiterate scrapheaps with the fashion sense of a colorblind Insecticons?”

“I'm not _that_ overcharged yet.”

“Just bored them all to tears, then. Never should have trusted you with this one,” his cousin sighed. “And to think I could've had an unlimited source of ring tickets.”

“You were pimping me out for _gladiator tickets!?_  You don't even like the arenas!”

“No, but a lot of handsome young mechs I know do. Speaking of which, I'm going to dance. Wanna come?”

“No,” Starscream snapped. He went to take another sip of the cube he was still holding only to find it empty. “I'm going back to that other room with all the fancy drinks. If you see T.C., don't tell him where I went.”

“Suit yourself.”

As she flounced away, humming merrily, Starscream glanced around for another caterer and spotted one carrying a tray of something vibrant orange and fizzing. Perfect. He stepped over, swept one of the cubes off the tray, and knocked it back in one gulp, vaguely aware of the mech carrying the tray trying to tell him something as he did.

The world spun for a moment, and he grabbed the caterer's arm to steady himself.

“The frag did I just drink?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Plutonium-238,” the amused-looking mech informed him. “I suggest finding somewhere to sit until it settles.”

“Plu... _what!?_ Why would you ever... Might as well be lacing the drinks with tox-en!” the Seeker spluttered.

“First time, huh? Give it a minute and you'll see,” the caterer assured him before continuing on down the hall.

Starscream sneered at his retreating back before heading in the other direction, in half a mind to find a bathroom and purge his tanks. He made it all of three steps before a curious sensation started creeping through him. If he'd had to describe it, he would have said it felt like his brain was blossoming, a warm tingling spreading through each of its new-found petals. Static bloomed in his vision before clearing and leaving the world... changed. He couldn't put his finger on quite what was different about it, it was just  _better_.

He suddenly felt light and giddy, more so than he ever had while overcharged in the past. A torrent of thoughts had exploded in his head, and chief among them was the idea that perhaps Slipstream was right—perhaps he had run away too quickly. Ranting about science wasn't _that_ weird. And he couldn't forget the way that Megatron had been  _looking_ at him.

He giggled. And then giggled again with surprise at the fact that he was giggling. He hadn't giggled in... well, he wasn't sure. But if there was one thing he was sure about, it was that this party was going to blow Sweetrock's 20 millionth out of the water. If only he could figure out where he'd left his little brother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go...


	6. In Which Starscream Has Had a Bit Too Much

Megatron had _not_ come to the party in hopes of running into Starscream, thank you very much, _Soundwave_.

It was a good chance to garner publicity for the gladiator ring, and Switchback would surely be grateful for that. He might even raise Megatron's pay, which would mean more money that they could pour into The Cause. (Currently, The Cause was progressing only in the tiniest steps due to lack of funds. For instance, they needed nearly three times Megatron and Soundwave's combined income to make their latest goal of recruiting five new doctors for their district.) That was all he wanted and the only reason he would put up with spending an evening surrounded by tittering high caste Seekers as they pretended that they were interested in him as anything more than a spectacle, like an iron bear that had been taught to wear clothes and hold cultured conversations.

Or so he had convinced himself, until Starscream appeared out of nowhere, looking even better than Megatron remembered him in his white and red suit, dark hair slicked neatly back from his forehead, where someone had done a rather expert job of covering the evidence of his time in Kaon with layers of makeup.

Megatron did believe in fate and destiny, and as they talked, as he watched the light flicker in the Seeker's intelligent eyes, nothing would have convinced him that this was anything else. He felt that he could have put up with any number of evenings full of high-casters to watch Starscream talk science and poetry and put pompous senators in their places.

This was almost a completely different mech than the one with wide, nervous eyes who had fainted right into his arms in Outburst's examination room, and Megatron wanted to get better acquainted with both. He just wished that those pitted senators would clear off already so that he could have Starscream to himself.

And then, when they finally did, Starscream suddenly started looking almost as embarrassed as he had in Kaon and ran off, making some excuse about finding his brother.

 _Like Motoroil in the fairytale, except that he didn't leave a shoe behind,_ Megatron reflected, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to follow.

He was just on the verge of deciding that he did when a voice off to his left said, “Isn't that your friend Daybreak's son over there?”

“Which one?” another voice asked.

And because Megatron remembered one of the senators had referred to Starscream as “one of Daybreak's boys,” he turned himself just enough to see the speakers out of the corner of his eye. He was mildly surprised to see Aerial standing not far away in a magenta gown that matched her hair perfectly.

“The older one,” her conversation partner replied, and Megatron focused on him now—a tall mech, almost as tall as himself, with a stern face and streaks of gray in his navy blue hair.

“So it is. Good to see him out finally.” The way she looped her arm through his and the way their faces almost seemed to mirror each other, Megatron would guess that they were conjunx endurae—and had been for a good, long time.

The gladiator's chief interest in the moment was pursuing Starscream, but fostering connections in Iacon would be valuable. And... Well, his point of reference with Aerial happened to be Starscream, anyway. A little bit of research wouldn't hurt.

He found himself striding over to the couple.

“Fancy meeting you here, Director,” he said once he was in hailing distance.

She and her partner turned to him with matched looks of curiosity. Aerial's faded quickly into one of recognition instead.

“Aha. Megatron, was it? Sweetrock does like to push boundaries,” she remarked, looking him up and down. “Are you what Starscream was just running away from, then?”

“I hope not,” Megatron chuckled.

“Never can decide what he wants, that boy,” Aerial sighed. “This is my conjunx, by the way.”

“Orion Pax,” the mech said, extending a large hand. Like Aerial, his voice was deep and seemed to resonate to a listener's core. “I hear you had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of some of Aerial's wrath earlier this week.”

“She's a force to be reckoned with,” Megatron remarked, taking the hand.

Orion Pax smiled, the lines of his face falling into it like an old mech coming home after a long day, and the blue of his eyes warmed several degrees. It was the sort of smile that made you want to do anything you could to please the person smiling it, just so you could witness it over and over again. Megatron blinked, wondering just who this mech was.

“She does have a way about her,” Orion said fondly.

“Might I ask your function, Orion?” Megatron questioned, thinking that a mech with a smile and voice like that would have to be in politics. He could probably tell a thousand 'bots to spend the rest of their lives as support pillars for a relinquishment center, and they would do it.

“I am a data archivist,” Orion told him.

Data archivist? _Data archivist!?_ Not only was it a mid-caste position, but it was one of the dullest ones ever invented! Here was just more proof of what Megatron was always saying about the flaws in the functionist system.

Aerial noticed the flash of surprise that crossed his face, and smiled lightly. “How old are you, Megatron? If you don't mind my asking. You have one of those faces that's hard to judge.”

“I hit my nine millionth around the time Councilor Charge was appointed,” he replied.

“Ah. Much too young to remember the aftermath of the Quintesson War, then,” she nodded. “You should look up some of the primary sources in the archives, if you ever get the chance. They're a little difficult to dig out, but something tells me you'd find them a fascinating study.”

“That's... I'll look into it,” Megatron said, mystified at this abrupt change of topic. Although, if Aerial could make a 90 degree turn in the conversation, then so could he. “So, how well do you know Starscream?”

The look of cold appraisal that Aerial gave him was almost answer enough. He should have been more subtle.

“I've known him since he was born. His mother was a dear friend.” _So tread lightly here;_ the unspoken words hung in the air.

Megatron had the greatest of respect for femmes, but was not used to feeling intimidated by them. The ones in Kaon were all too down-trodden to try. It was disconcerting—like jumping off a cliff and not actually falling.

“I was just curious, while we're on the subject of functions,” he began, having to try harder than usual to maintain his casual charisma as he attempted to backpedal, “his mother was _the_ Senator Daybreak, correct? The one from the Darvinian Displacements? Which would make his farther Air Commander Maelstrom, if I've got my Vossian history right. So, why a scientist? Don't functions typically run in the family among high-casters?”

To his surprise, Aerial laughed.

“Well, he does love science, from what I hear,” Orion put in, but there was the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eye as well.

“You clearly know a bit about his mother, so tell me this: do you think anyone in the Senate wanted _two_ of her around?” Aerial pointed out. “He would have made a great tactician, but...”

“His father enacted a height restriction on the Air Command just after Starscream stopped growing,” Orion explained.

“Never underestimate the lengths a Seeker will go to for his children,” Aerial finished.

 _The legitimate ones, at least_ , Megatron thought to himself, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly across a large burn scar on the palm of his hand. Out loud, he remarked, “The world of the upper caste is certainly a foreign place.”

“How lucky you are to be able to experience it,” Aerial commented, and he was mostly sure that it was sarcasm.

 

* * *

 

Thundercracker had never understood how Starscream could take no interest in femmes. They were all softness and curves and sweet little sounds where mechs were hard lines and gruffness. The one he was with now was particularly nice.

Her name was Cardinal, and he'd been captured by the sight of her on the dance floor about 30 minutes ago. She had whirled and twirled, her golden dress and deep lavender hair spinning in a cloud around her until she spun right into Thundercracker's arms, laughing a gorgeous little tinkling noise at him. They whirled together for a while, and she treated him to one of her little laughs every time he fumbled trying to keep up with her. He may have fumbled less if he hadn't been so distracted by the rise and fall of her hip against his hand.

And then, she was pulling him away from the ballroom and pushing a drink at him and talking. Thundercracker collected the information she gave him as ammo to use in the more delicate dance he hoped they might be heading into: she was from Altihex, she was a singer, her alt-mode was a phonograph, she liked her energon with a bit of iron stirred in, she loved little hole-in-the-wall bars with aged proprietors and even more aged music, she had gorgeous collarbones...

Also, the bits of her just beneath her collarbones were not so bad.

And her lips were very red.

And he wasn't sure how many high grades she had passed him at this point...

“TC!”

The familiar screech interrupted Thundercracker's overcharged thoughts on whether or not Cardinal would be interested in letting him slip a hand down her dress in one of Sweetrock's many and large closets, and suddenly his older brother had latched onto his arms.

For a moment, Thundercracker assumed that something terrible must have happened because otherwise Starscream never would have clung to him in public like that, and he instinctively started checking him over for injuries. It took a second for him to realize that the smaller Seeker's shoulders were shaking with laughter, not fear.

“You're tickling me!” Starscream whined. He shied away, only to come back full force a moment later and bury his face in his brother's chest to hide his uncontrollable giggle fit.

“What in the Pit have you been drinking!?” Thundercracker demanded, almost shoving him away.

“I looked for you everywhere!” Starscream offered in non-reply, now wrapping his arms around Thundercracker's neck and trying to climb up him.

“This is... my brother,” Thundercracker explained at the questioning look on Cardinal's face.

“Oh,” she remarked, her eyebrows shooting up. “He's... clearly quite fond of you.”

That was when Starscream noticed her.

“Oh my god!” he shouted, turning to face her. The few people in their little out-of-the-way corridor jumped and looked around. “Is this your new crush, TC!? She's so pretty! Look at her—she's like... like a golden...somethimmf!”

He struggled getting the last bit out because Thundercracker was trying frantically to clamp a hand over his mouth.

“Yes, yes, I know!” the younger Seeker hissed. He turned to Cardinal with an apologetic smile. “He's not usually so—did you just _bite_ me!?”

And now Starscream was laughing so hard he was doubled over and making snorting sounds.

“ _What_ are you _on!?_ ”

“Whatever it is, I want some,” Cardinal chimed, holding back laughter of her own.

Starscream turned to address her: “There was a mech upstairs with fizzy orange cubes. plutonium-238—it's rocket fuel, not jet fuel!” He was singing now to the tune of some old jingle. “Combustion in your ustion! Haha! TC, what the frag is an ustion?”

“ _Frag_ , you are high,” Thundercracker mumbled.

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh, TC! There's this mech upstairs who's, like, hotter than hot. His biceps are bigger than my face!”

“What about it?” Thundercracker asked, sucking on the little trickle of energon his brother's teeth had drawn from his hand.

“So, help me talk to him! I'm scared on my own! Please? Pretty, pretty, please, please pleeeeease?”

“I'm not gonna let you flirt while you're high _and_ drunk,” Thundercracker scoffed, now catching each of Starscream's hands in his own to stop his brother pulling on his clothes.

“But _you're_ drunk and _you're_ flirting!” Starscream protested, and then turned to Cardinal once more. “You're super pretty, by the way. Did I already say that? I did? Wow, I don't usually say that kind of thing out loud...”

Cardinal shot a pitying look at Thundercracker over the smaller Seeker's head. “Looks like you've got your hands full. Comm me sometime?”

“Yes! Yes, I will,” Thundercracker said, enthusiastically.

“Ew! Are you gonna frag her?” Starscream demanded, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Did I say that out loud, too?”

“Good luck.” The femme shot a final little laugh over her shoulder before flitting off.

“You wanted to frag her tonight, didn't you?” Starscream whispered when she was gone.

“You are going to be _so_ sick when you come down, and I am going to enjoy it _so_ much,” Thundercracker promised him.

Starscream just made a disinterested humming noise and started to walk off.

“Gonna get a drink,” he mumbled. He managed to stagger a few steps before pausing to brace himself on a wall. Then, he giggled and turned back to Thundercracker. “I forgot—I already had a drink!”

“How many did you have?” his brother wanted to know.

“How many did _you_ have?”

“...Three.”

“Five! I win!”

“It wasn't a competition.”

“Sorry your crush ran away. Can you help me with mine now?”

“What're you gonna do? Drool on him?”

Starscream swiped at his chin self-consciously, and then cast a suspicious glance back at his brother. “I am not drooling.”

“Will be soon,” Thundercracker muttered.

But then he stopped and considered, in his inebriated way. Watching Starscream flirt, on the rare occasions it happened, was always... hilariously pathetic, and right now, the effect would be multiplied exponentially. Turnaround was fair play, as they said.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, let's do it.”

“Do what?” Starscream asked.

“Let's go pick up mechs! Or _a_ mech. For you. I'm not interested.”

“You are the best brother ever,” Starscream said in a hushed voice.

 

* * *

 

The party was in full swing now; the pleasant conversations and obligatory small talk having been gotten out of the way. Many of the older guests had paid their respects to the governor and gone home already, leaving the more vivacious youngsters to their revelries. The music in the ballroom had shifted to something faster and deeper, and a good many of the remaining guests had managed to reach some level of overcharge.

Megatron retreated to a small balcony that nobody else seemed particularly interested in; overcharged strangers were of little interest when he himself was still sober. He'd sampled a high grade or two, yes, but he didn't trust himself to get home again if he had much more.

He'd spent some time looking for Starscream after his conversation with Aerial and Orion, but given it up as a lost cause in the end. If he wanted to see the Seeker again, he would probably have to push to get him back to Kaon. Or maybe he could find some way to get in touch with that cousin of his. She seemed the type to be conveniently willing to divulge sensitive information.

For now, he was occupied in trying to think of the best way to describe the gardens behind Sweetrock's manor. They were like a glittering carpet of stars. Or a river of... something else glittery. Nothing else glittered in quite the same way as stars, though looking out at lights on a distance did always remind him of the larger caverns in the mines.

He was still debating on metaphors and similes when something bumped into his back with a distinctive “frrffle” sound. When he turned around, the very Seeker he'd been looking for was standing there, rubbing his nose.

“You're a lot closer than you look,” Starscream muttered.

“And you're a lot closer than I thought you were,” Megatron told him, his face splitting into a broad grin. And then he noticed the way that Starscream was swaying. “You alright?”

“I'm good! I'm... I'm so good. Like, the _best_.” He tried to lean his elbow casually on the railing and missed. Megatron reached out to catch him before his face could connect with the railing and caught a whiff of something...radioactive.

“I was gonna tell you,” Starscream said, apparently ignorant of what had just transpired as well as the hand Megatron had clamped around his upper arm to prevent further accidents. “I was gonna tell you that... Do you know that if I made Uranium Iodide, then U and I would be together?”

“Oh.” Megatron blinked as he realized that this was supposed to be a pickup line. He had honestly been under the impression that Starscream was mildly terrified of him if anything, and had not, in fact, planned for this eventuality.

The little Seeker was looking up at him expectantly, though, and Megatron's spark skipped a beat at the sight of those large, overly-bright eyes and the feel of a slender arm in his hand. For a moment, all he could think of was how small Starscream was, and how he had never tried small before, but something about this Seeker made him really, really want to.

And then the same part of him that had stopped after two small high grades earlier that evening caught up and reminded him that taking advantage of excessively overcharged mechs was the exact sort of thing that he was trying to get people to stop doing back home.

“I'm sorry, but you've had a bit too much high grade for this, I think,” he said.

“No, no!” Starscream protested, flapping his hands at him. “It wasn't the high grade, it was plutonium! And it was an accident. I was like, 'What the frag was that?' And he was like, 'Plutonium-238,' and I was all like, 'Whaaaaaaaaaa....'” His voice trailed off, getting higher and higher pitched, and then he broke off into a giggle.

Megatron frowned. He had heard far too many stories that started just like that and ended in tragedy over the course of his life. A wave of indignant protective instinct swept over him, and he gripped the Seeker's arm a little more tightly while he glanced around, as though whoever had administered the offending drug might still be lurking around, waiting to pounce.

“Oh, hey. You've got a big hand...” Starscream remarked, his eyes finally sliding to the appendage clamped to his upper arm before shooting back up to Megatron's face. “And I'm supposed to be flirting with you.”

“Another time,” Megatron assured him. “For now, let's try finding that brother of yours.”

“What? Brother? TC's not... He's nowhere near here,” Starscream scoffed, his eyes flicking repeatedly toward the open doors leading back into the house.

Megatron turned that way just in time to see a head of sky blue hair pulling back around the door frame. His frown deepened as it occurred to him that Starscream's brother could very well be as impaired as Starscream himself. Which would be unfortunate because plutonium was a fleeting high, and he could tell from the Seeker's increasing spaciness that he was already on the down slide.

“Okay, well, you're probably gonna be deciding you've had enough party for one night any minute now, I think.” He started steering the Seeker back toward the doors. “Why don't I call you and your brother a transport?”

“No!” Starscream protested, digging in his heels. “I'm having... having.... I'm.... Nnck!”

That last grunt sounded urgent, and Megatron stopped. It was easy to overdose on plutonium, he remembered, and high-casters were such reckless idiots. And Starscream hadn't even meant to take the stuff in the first place.

He took the Seeker's chin in one hand and turned his face up so that he could examine his eyes more closely, looking especially at the corners. It was one of those things that you learned living in Kaon—if your friend has a purple tint in the corners of his eyes, you'd better hope you're still sober enough yourself to get him to the nearest clinic.

Starscream looked fine, though. Megatron was just about to release him when he noticed the way the Seeker was looking at him. It was, for one thing, a shockingly clear expression for someone so heavily under the influence, and for another, it was one of straight-up awe. And then he smiled, pure and innocent and so completely unlike anything that any mech had ever aimed in Megatron's direction in the past.

Megatron was just thinking that he really needed to back up before he broke his resolve not to take advantage of the situation when a fist came out of nowhere and collided with the side of his face.

“Don't touch my brother!” a deep voice was shouting, and Starscream was also shouting:

“What are you doing, TC!? I was so close!”

 

* * *

 

 

Things were not going so well for Slipstream. Oh, there were plenty of mechs around who were more than willing to lavish her in affection. The problem was that she had already tried most of them on at some point in the past, and the rest lacked a certain pizazz that she needed in her life. She'd considered the option of getting herself overcharged and letting go, but unfortunately, Aerial had asked her to come into work the next morning. Around 11:30, she decided she might as well give the night up for bust and get enough recharge instead.

The mech that she was talking to at the time, an older one that she had a vague recollection of taking a few liaisons with a couple hundred thousand years ago, insisted on walking with her down to the main entrance, and it took all of her feminine powers of insistence to get him not to.

She sent out a comm to her cousins to let them know that she was leaving while she made her way down to the entrance, and was more than a little bit surprised to spot the both of them already out at the top of the front stairs. A wave of indignation swept through her as she decided that they must have been about to leave without her, and she began to march toward them, only to realize that Thundercracker was... shouting at someone.

She stopped short, her mouth dropping open. She couldn't see who it was because of the placement of the pillars and ornamental plants decorating the front veranda, but they had somehow managed to get her stoic cousin into the kind of righteous fury that he typically reserved only for... Oh. Ooohhhhh.

The angle had just shifted enough that she could now see Starscream standing right behind Thundercracker, with his hands clenched in his brother's jacket and his face buried in his back.

A little smile quirked Slipstream's mouth and she scooted around, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever her cousin was berating without coming into his line of sight. Who had tried to hurt Starscream this time?

Her mouth dropped open even farther and a hand flew up to stifle a laugh when she saw Megatron standing there, looking like the illustration someone might draw to go next to the dictionary definition of “long-suffering.” This, she could tell, was prime gossip, and she wasn't the only one watching. Several others were standing around on the front veranda, whispering to each other behind their hands. Some of them had pulled out recording devices. Slipstream ducked low and slunk her way to a pillar that was close enough for her to hear the argument.

“...someone else to tell me when my own brother has had too much, thank you very much!” Thundercracker was saying, and Slipstream heard the slight warble in his voice that he got when he was overcharged. Perfect.

“He's barely standing! Just take him home!” Megatron insisted.

“I'll be the judge of that!” Thundercracker returned, and Starscream vomited down his back.

It was with a feeling a bit like vertigo that Slipstream realized that Megatron was actually the one with Starscream's best interests at heart in this situation. Not that Thundercracker didn't think he was playing that role, but he was such a dismally stubborn drunk. How Megatron had gotten involved in the first place she couldn't even imagine, but knew that it had been a lost cause the second he suggested Starscream might need to leave. Now, Thundercracker would be forced to wait a sufficient length of time that it would seem like _his_ idea to take his brother home.

She really wanted to know just how much Starscream had had to drink since the last time she had seen him, though. The vomit now dripping down Thundercracker's back was phenomenally technicolor, and there was still more coming.

Slipstream moved past giggling and began shaking with uncontrollable silent laughter as she watched Thundercracker trying to steer his spewing brother toward one of the potted plants. His efforts were hampered by the fact that he himself was having trouble walking in a straight line. Idiots.

Megatron moved in to help, and Thundercracker let go of Starscream in favor of trying to start some weird, overcharged fight with the gladiator. From what Slipstream had gathered over the years, Thundercracker was highly skilled at hand-to-hand combat, but apparently that had become null and void as soon as the words “overcharged” and “gladiator” came into play. The other mech caught his arms with ease and then flipped him into a hold.

While they were struggling, Starscream finished emptying his tanks and muttered something about flying home. That was when Slipstream decided it might be time for her to get involved—she generally preferred her cousins in one piece and not smeared across the side of the senate tower.

She unfolded herself from behind the plant in a rush, knowing that she would never be able to catch him if he took off.

“Star, wait up!” she called as she hurried toward him.

He was already at the top of the stairs, and turned just a bit too quickly when he heard her voice. Slipstream's spark skipped a beat as she watched one of his feet slip over the edge. Starscream's eyes widened to their fullest extent, and then he was tipping over backward.

There was a sound of shifting metal as the change in gravity triggered his mechanization reflex, followed by the crash of metal on stone repeated over and over and over. Slipstream, Megatron, and Thundercracker all stared transfixed at the spot he had disappeared from until the crashing stopped. And then Megatron had released Thundercracker, and the Seeker was running for the stairs.

“Star! Star, are you okay?” he called out, and Slipstream followed him, still trying not to laugh.

The various onlookers also moved so that they could continue the show, avoiding Starscream's mess by the plants.

At the bottom of the stairs, Starscream was lying face down, making indistinct groaning noises. One of his wings was slightly bent, but otherwise, he looked fine. Slipstream didn't see any energon or twisted limbs, at any rate.

“Star, that was perfect!” she gasped, finally breaking into gales of hysterical laughter now that she knew he was okay.

“Where did you come from?” Thundercracker demanded of her, pulling his brother up by the elbow to examine him more closely.

“I was just on my way out. I commed you,” she told him.

Megatron came thumping to a halt beside her a moment later. “Is he okay?” he wanted to know.

“Wha' happen?” Starscream mumbled, blinking at Thundercracker. He had a bit of energon leaking from a split in his lip, which he sucked at curiously.

“He's just fine,” Slipstream assured the fretting gladiator. And then she regarded her cousins for a moment. Thundercracker was trying to unbend Starscream's wing, and the latter was shrieking at him to leave it be. She was starting to realize just how overcharged Thundercracker was, and wondered what femme had been pushing drinks at him earlier—he rarely got overcharged of his own accord.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Megatron asked, and now she turned her attention to him, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“Why?” she wanted to know. “You're not gonna get any from him tonight, if that's what you're hoping.”

The look of utter disgust he gave her confirmed her worst fears.

“Oh my god. You're...” Her voice lowered. “You actually _like_ him!”

“Is that a problem?”

“Ha! You have no idea... But if you wanna help me get them home...”

Which was how no less than 20 people got footage that night of a popular gladiator wrestling Air Commander Maelstrom's two sons into the back of a transport, while their cousin shouted out encouragement and broke down laughing by turns.

 

 


	7. In which errors are made

It was far from the first time that Slipstream had ridden in the back of a transport with her overcharged cousins, but it was the first time that her aunt and uncle hadn't come out to help her navigate them inside. Normally, it would be Maelstrom first, propping up Thundercracker with the sheer force of stern disapproval, while Daybreak dragged her eldest son out on the other side with Slipstream's help.

The last time it had happened was a few months before Skywarp was born. It was just Slipstream and Thundercracker that night, Starscream being off-planet at the time, and Thundercracker had taken the full brunt of both of his parents' disapproval. Slipstream couldn't help but giggle a bit at the memory of her cousin shrinking back from his extremely pregnant mother as she ranted at him about the responsibilities of a soon-to-be-older brother.

Tonight, there were no lectures; just a rather flustered gladiator, who was doing his best to herd a teetering Thundercracker in through the back door while Slipstream helped Starscream find his feet.

“Where are we?” Starscream asked her after nearly face-planting for the fifth time in a row.

“We're home, Star,” she told him.

“Can I go to bed now?” he wanted to know.

“Yup. We just gotta get there,” she assured him.

“Is my mom awake? I wanna talk to her.”

Slipstream waited to answer that one until they were in the front entrance.

“Um... Let's wait until morning,” she said.

Once Starscream was inside, Thundercracker followed willingly, to Megatron's visible relief.

“The Vossian Air Command lives up to its reputation,” the gladiator murmured as he watched Thundercracker stumbling down the corridor toward the entrance hall.

“Top of his class,” Slipstream commented, hitching Starscream up her shoulder a bit.

“Well, I should probably...” Megatron began, and was cut off as Starscream slipped out of his cousin's grasp and hit the ground with a surprisingly loud _thud_ for someone so small.

“Guess he's sleeping in the hall tonight,” Slipstream said, prodding his prone form with a foot.

“I'll get him,” the gladiator sighed.

He stepped around her and bent down to grab the half-conscious Seeker. Starscream made little grumbling noises and flopped about listlessly as the gladiator eased him up into his arms and straightened up again.

“Primus, he looks like a doll on you,” Slipstream sniggered. She whipped her pocket datapad from her clutch and snapped a photo. “For posterity; mine, not his,” she explained.

“Which way is his room?” Megatron asked wearily.

“Yeah, yeah, this way.” She motioned for him to follow down the corridor.

He had to go sideways to avoid knocking Starscream's head or feet on the wall.

When they got into the entrance hall, Megatron stopped for a minute to stare; he couldn't help it. This was elegance and opulence on a whole different scale from Sweetrock's manor. The guvernatorial estate was relatively new for Cybertronian architecture, probably not much older than Megatron himself, and had the distinctly garish brashness of things from the Golden Age. None of it could match the effortless awe of pre-Quintesson architecture.

The ceiling of the entrance hall swept up and up, the ceiling shrouded in gloom and high enough that the room had its own breeze. One wall was mostly windows, extending into the darkness, while the other side of the room was layer after layer of balconies—the main corridor of each level left open to look down on the hall. Almost every single inch of it was intricately detailed in carvings and wrought metal, from the railings of the balconies to the colossal pillars that stretched up to support the nearly-invisible ceiling. The floor was reinforced obsidian veined with what looked like white gold, and the reflections of the lights and the pale gold pillars ghosted across it in every direction.

Megatron tried to imagine anyone actually _living_ here—Starscream running around as a sparkling, having arguments with his parents, hanging out with friends—and he couldn't. It would be like living inside of the coliseum!

He shook himself clear again and followed Slipstream toward the sweeping staircase.

Thundercracker was sitting on the top step, staring into space. When Slipstream asked him what he was doing, he just grunted.

“Well, why don't you go to bed, then?” she suggested.

He heaved a sigh and got to his feet once more. Slipstream moved around to prevent him duplicating his brother's earlier mistake and aimed him down the hallway. He didn't seem to notice Megatron, for which the gladiator was grateful; he'd had enough of wrestling overcharged Seekers for one night.

No sooner had the thought passed through his brain than one of Starscream's hands came up and whacked him across the face.

“Dad?” the Seeker murmured as he started groping his hand across the gladiator's chin. Megatron froze. “Dad, it was awful,” Starscream continued, his words so slurred that Megatron could barely make them out. “I threw up and fell down the stairs in front of this mech I kinda like, and now he's gonna think I'm a total drunk and a weirdo. Why'm I so stupid?”

“You're not stupid,” Megatron said, for lack of better response.

“You always say that.” Starscream reached up vaguely and twined his arms around Megatron's neck so that he could nestle his face into the larger mech's shoulder. The gladiator stiffened as a soft, warm vent whispered across his collarbones. “I missed you.”

“You coming?” Slipstream called from around the turn of the hall.

Megatron tightened his grip on Starscream and began walking with longer strides than before, trying to focus more on the elaborate detailing in the carpet and the portraits lining the walls than the fragile weight of the body in his arms.

Around a few more corners and up a smaller flight of stairs, they came to a wide hallway with five doors along one side and floor-to-ceiling windows down the other. There was a harassed-looking femme sitting in a high-backed armchair at one end of the hall. She stood and approached Slipstream while Thundercracker grunted in disinterest and meandered toward the door on the other end of the hall.

“That's not your room, TC!” Slipstream called after him before turning back to the femme. “How was he?”

“He locked himself and the dogs into the bedroom ten minutes after you left, and I haven't seen him since. Heard him plenty, though,” the femme informed her.

“Oh, wow! The damage is reduced to one room this time, then!” Slipstream exclaimed, and Megatron couldn't detect a single note of sarcasm in it. “We'll have to get you back sometime. What's your name again?”

“Ch... Charity,” the femme stammered, clearly taken aback. “But I don't think—”

“No, really. When my mom tried to leave him with a sitter a couple of months ago, he took a poker and smashed everything he could reach on the third floor, and the sitter locked herself in the closet,” Slipstream elaborated. “I think he really likes you.”

“Um, what should I do with him?” Megatron interrupted, indicating the now-snoring Seeker in his arms.

“Oh, just toss him in there with TC,” Slipstream suggested, waving vaguely to the still-open door that her other cousin had disappeared through several moments before. “His room is a total disaster anyway.”

Megatron made his way toward the door while Slipstream started trying to convince Charity to sign a retainer contract, all-too-eager to relieve himself of the distraction of his burden.

On the other side of the doorway, he found himself standing in the most excessively spacious bedroom he'd ever seen. His entire apartment would have fit in there with room to spare. The vaulted ceiling was at least three stories high, and silvery-white buttresses crossed a midnight-blue expanse well above his head. The carpet underfoot was a soft, white expanse that he felt almost sacrilegious walking across with his shoes on. All of the furniture was done up in delicate curves and swoops, and was also mainly white. The overall effect was of walking through clouds, which Megatron supposed was probably some sort of instinctive need for Seekers—like the high ceilings.

Megatron went straight for the bed, which was large enough that it could have fit four full-grown mechs, even with Thundercracker sprawled out diagonally across it. The gladiator crept up and started to carefully lower Starscream beside his brother.

It proved harder than expected to convince the Seeker to unwrap his arms from around his neck—he had a shockingly strong grip for someone so spindly. There was an awkward moment when Megatron found himself practically lying on top of the smaller mech, their cheeks flush against each other and his face pressed into the mattress.

“Starscream, I need you to let go,” he tried, his voice muffled by the blankets.

The Seeker just made a whining noise at him.

Megatron tugged a little harder at his wrists. He didn't want to hurt the little mech, but also desperately did not want Slipstream to walk in and find him in this position.

Thankfully, there was a rustling from Starscream's other side then, and an arm worked its way between Megatron and his captor. Starscream whined again as his brother started tugging him away, and finally released the gladiator in favor of rolling over and throwing an arm over Thundercracker instead.

Megatron watched curiously as they settled into each other. It was one of those well-known facts that Seekers tended to be highly affectionate with their family members, but it was weird to think that the children of two of Vos's most prominent nobles did something so familiar as cling to each other for comfort when they were sick with overcharge.

It was weird in general to be witnessing the personal lives of the upper caste, come to that; like walking into another world.

He sat back on the edge of the bed and took another look around the bedroom. Slipstream had said that it was neither Thundercracker's nor Starscream's, and he now saw the traces of two separate people littered in various places around the room—a dress thrown over the back of the chair at the vanity, a couple of ties laid out on the sofa, an old datapad on one nightstand, a book written in ancient Vossian on the other. He realized with a further sense of uncanniness that he was sitting on the late Air Commander's bed.

The surreality continued when he found that he actually recognized the dress hanging on the vanity chair—it was that distinctive crimson one that Senator Daybreak had been wearing in the photo that had been splattered across various newspapers for weeks after she and Maelstrom died. The photo was a famous one of her shaking hands with the governor of Tarn after leading peace talks between their two city-states. Most of the newspapers had run it alongside one of her husband standing proud after his appointment to Air Commander back during the Golden Age.

Megatron knew both of them from the history books, of course. Daybreak's political machinations were responsible for a large portion of Vos's economic prosperity both in the Golden Age and now, while Maelstrom's quick and steady command had saved the aerial city-state from sinking into the same sort of chaos many of its neighbors had during the period just after the closing of the space bridges. Long before that, when he was still just a youngling recruit, Maelstrom had gained notoriety for leading a successful two-Seeker raid on one of the Quintesson flag ships that helped turn the tide of the war. The other Seeker involved was Daybreak.

The gladiator looked back down at their two sons sleeping on their bed and wondered what kind of people Maelstrom and Daybreak had actually been. Were they good parents? Starscream clearly missed them, at least, and apparently Maelstrom had jumped through quite a few hoops to keep him out of active military duty. Which one of them did their oldest son take after?

All those times that he'd read about the two of them, Megatron had never spared more than the tiniest thought for the brief mentions of the fact that they had conceived a son later in life, and now he held the high distinction of nearly having been thrown up on by said son—twice. And apparently, Starscream kind of had a crush on him? He was curious to see if that lasted past the hangover.

Megatron moved to get up, and something up near the pillows caught his eye—something strangely familiar. He reached up and flicked the blanket aside to uncover it properly.

It was a book, small and green and definitely familiar. He flipped it open and ran a finger down the well-known words. There were notes in some of the margins, written in quick, spidery Vossian script. Megatron squinted and turned the book sideways so that he could decipher some of them.

_-The different mechs are different castes.-_

_-Subtle, but definitely commentary on class differences.-_

_-This one, too.-_

_-The mother is Solus Prime—she's upset about the suffering of her children.-_

_-More proof that this poet is a low-caster.-_

The phrase “susurration of silence” was underlined at the end of one poem and simply had the character for excellence written around it several times.

Megatron turned back to Starscream, who was drooling on his brother's neck now. He was definitely going to find a way to have a proper conversation with the Seeker when he was sober, conscious, and not distracted by anyone else.

“Alright, well, there's that taken care of!”

Megatron jumped up off the bed as Slipstream came striding into the room.

“Oh, did they fall asleep already?” she asked, pausing when she caught sight of her cousins. “I was hoping to get some more reactions out of them.”

“I'll just head out now,” the gladiator told her, starting for the door.

“Don't bother,” she said, waving a disinterested hand at him. “There won't be a public transport back to Kaon until at least 8:00 tomorrow morning—that's still hours off.”

“I really can't—” Megatron started, but she was having none of it.

“There are couches and guest rooms all over the place here. Go ahead and crash on one. These two will sleep late tomorrow, so you can totally get out of here before they wake up if that's what you're worried about,” she assured him, and then she was already disappearing out the door again. “I'll be in the room at the other end of the hall if you need anything.”

 

* * *

 

Megatron wasn't bold enough to actually use any of the guest rooms, but he did eventually wander into a sitting room with a massive sofa. It was more comfortable than his bed back home, but he found it difficult to relax enough to drift off with almost 40 feet of empty space overhead. Whatever it was in Seeker genetics that made them crave openness, Megatron's father apparently hadn't bothered to pass it down.

Not that he minded; it was bad enough sharing physical characteristics with the glitching scrapheap without having his behavioral idiosyncrasies, too.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, though, because he didn't hear the skittering of paws that would have alerted him to the imminent danger in the morning. As it was, he woke most abruptly when a large, wet tongue began exploring his face.

The guilty canid—Striker—shrank back, managing to avoid the gladiator's flailing limbs, and promptly started barking out a good-natured alarm to the rest of the house. The two smaller dogs joined him in shrill yips a moment later.

“Stoooop! You're so noisy!” a young voice whined, and a tiny mech with purple hair came spinning round the doorway.

A sort of lightness flooded through Megatron at the sight of him, and he was suddenly very awake. It didn't do for a gladiator to be seen interacting with sparklings under normal circumstances—it would give the impression that he had a soft side, weak spots—but this one, with his purple hair and big, red eyes, put him distinctly in mind of another sparkling he had known a very long time ago. Also, this was obviously the brother that Starscream was raising (what was his name again?), and he knew well how parents and parent figures appreciated people who got along with their sparklings.

The little Seeker, on the other hand, stopped abruptly when he saw Megatron and shrank back behind the door frame. Striker, Ruby and Pearl all came prancing over to poke him with their noses and seek his opinion on the intruder.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “If you're a bad guy, my brother will beat you up.”

“I don't doubt it,” Megatron said, remembering Thundercracker's drunken maneuvers the previous night.

“So, are you?”

“Not today,” Megatron told him, waggling his eyebrows at the sparkling.

“What's that supposed to mean?” the sparkling whined. “You can't be a bad guy on only some days!”

“Sure you can,” Megatron protested.

“What's your _name_?” the little Seeker insisted.

“It's Megatron.”

“That _sounds_ like a bad guy name.”

“Yes, well, that's because I fight bad guys, and you have to be scarier than the bad guys to do that.”

“How do you fight the bad guys?” the sparkling wanted to know, edging into the room a little more.

“With words,” Megatron told him.

“Mommy does that!”

“Really?”

“Mommy's.... she's... she's super cool, and... and she can do a warp!” Skywarp (as Megatron now remembered his name was) said in that breathless stumble that sparklings used when their thoughts were moving faster than their language drivers could handle. “I can do warp, but... but not yet. See this?”

He held up his wrist to display a thick, elaborate bracelet of sorts clamped tightly to his wrist.

“It's a war pinibitor. It's because my... my... my warp drive isn't... it's not...”

“Fully calibrated?” Megatron guessed. Outliers' abilities tended to be erratic until the age of eight.

“Yeah, it's not. So, you know, my daddy fights bad guys, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he flies super good and fights the bad guys. So does TC. And Star flies, but he doesn't fight.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. He's a butt breath.”

“You don't say.”

“Um... Did you know... Did you know my daddy showed me fighting? And he... someday, he'll show me flying, he said... he said...”

Skywarp trailed off, a look of confusion clouding over his face, and Megatron had a pretty good guess as to what was tripping him up.

“Hey,” he said, and Skywarp focused back on him. “You think you can show me your fighting skills?”

The sparkling's face instantly lit up.

 

* * *

 

The effects of radioactive materials on Cybertronian biology were a widely researched topic, and one which most educated 'bots knew well. Some, like Plutonium-238, provided a sense of intense giddiness and heightened awareness for about an hour or so. Others, when taken in small doses, had milder effects that were useful for treating attention disorders and depression. However, even these, if taken recklessly and combined with high grade, had a tendency to leave the user feeling in the morning as though someone else had been having an intensely violent party inside of him all night.

Starscream was well-aware of all of this, which was why he had thusfar in avoided radioactives in his life. Now, he rolled onto his back and groaned as dramatically as he could with a throat that felt full of sandpaper, reflecting that he hadn't been missing anything all these years.

“Shut up. My head hurts,” Thundercracker's muffled voice came from somewhere to his left.

“Why did you take me to that slagging party? I told you I didn't wanna go,” Starscream moaned, flailing out an arm to smack his brother as the previous night's events started percolating. His hand only flopped onto empty bed. “And why'd you let me get so overcharged?”

“I didn't. You did that on your own,” his brother returned gruffly. “Now either shut up or go away.”

After a couple minutes more, Starscream forced himself up. He felt like he might purge again, and he didn't want to do it in his parents' bed. He didn't want to do it in their bathroom, either, so he wobbled his way to the door, pausing several times to steady himself on various items of furniture.

There were some bizarre flecks of memory drifting back to him on the stream of garbled consciousness from the latter parts of the previous evening. He remembered talking to his father, for instance, which had to have been a hallucination. Although, he was pretty sure that _someone_ had carried him up the stairs—he distinctly remembered pushing his face against a large neck, and he really wished that he could remember whose.

He also had a vague recollection of almost kissing Megatron on the balcony, and that was equally bizarre. Surely, the gladiator had taken one look at his stupidly overcharged face and walked away in disgust.

Starscream's insides curled in on themselves even more just thinking about it, and he sank down to his knees, arms wrapped around his middle and his forehead pressed into the ground. He had made it to the hallway by now, but didn't have the energy to get the last few yards to his bedroom.

A sudden, high-pitched shriek, which quickly resolved into childish laughter, came rocketing up the stairs and straight through his processor.

He hissed in annoyance and was about to yell down the stairs at his brother to be quiet when a deep laugh boomed up the stairs as well. Starscream sat up slightly in confusion as his brother's pattering footsteps, the dogs' skittering ones, and a set of much slower, heavier ones came straight for the staircase that he was currently collapsed in front of.

“You can't catch me!” Skywarp called out.

“Curse you and your speedy ways, Seeker!” the second voice replied, full of mock frustration.

And now, Starscream nearly swallowed his own tongue in panic as he realized that he recognized that voice. His memories of the previous night started to resolve themselves into a more cohesive narrative—Thundercracker punching Megatron across the face, Megatron herding both of them down to the entrance, Megatron sitting in the front seat of the transport, _Megatron_ carrying him up the stairs to the bedroom...

He choked and clapped a hand to his mouth, trying to get his feet under himself. He didn't have to wonder how the gladiator had ended up staying the night (it had Slipstream written all over it), and was uninterested in engaging him in conversation about it, or about anything for that matter.

Unfortunately, his body was not yet ready for hasty retreats, and he found himself back on the floor, willing himself not to purge or pass out _again_ as both sets of footsteps came to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. The dogs came over to lick his face, and he pressed it into the carpet to avoid them.

“What are you doing?” Skywarp wanted to know.

Starscream answered him with a shuddering grunt.

“Do you need anything?” Megatron asked him.

More groaning.

“Are you gonna throw up again? I can help you to the bathroom.”

“Stop being nice to me,” the Seeker whined, his voice muffled by the carpet.

Pearl was still pawing at his ear in an attempt to get his attention, and he pushed at her feebly.

“Is he sick?” Skywarp asked now.

“Ah... sort of.”

“I'm fine,” Starscream insisted, pushing himself up to a sitting position now.

“Your eyes look weird,” his brother informed him.

“Go change out of your pajamas,” Starscream snapped.

“Don't wanna,” Skywarp stated.

“Then go bother TC, or something; he's in Mom and Dad's room. Just... find somewhere to be that isn't here!”

Skywarp made a huffing noise, but couldn't resist the opportunity to harass his favorite brother.

“Are you sure you don't need anything?” Megatron asked as the sparkling disappeared into the door at the end of the hall.

“Why are you here?” Starscream asked, his tone coming off more abrasive than he had intended. Really, he just wanted to know why Megatron was being so helpful when so far he had done absolutely nothing to warrant it.

“Sorry, I... just wanted to make sure that you got home safely last night,” the other mech told him.

“I had it sorted.”

Megatron made a derisive sound. “You were trying to fly home by yourself while overcharged and irradiated out of your mind.”

“It wasn't any of your business either way,” Starscream snapped, incensed that Megatron was laughing at him now.

“Sorry,” Megatron repeated, a bit more coldly this time. “I guess I was under the wrong impression.”

Starscream made a noise of frustration and buried his face in his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his forehead as though he could somehow rub out the throbbing pain there.

“I don't... Why is talking to people so _difficult!?_ ” he whined, mostly to himself.

“It's easier without a massive hangover,” Megatron put in, and now it was Starscream's turn to give a sardonic little laugh.

“Are you interested in me, or something?” he wanted to know, peering up at him with one bloodshot eye.

“Yes.”

The bluntness surprised him almost as much as the information.

“Why?” Starscream wanted to know, pulling into himself a little bit as the gladiator's gaze suddenly took on all new undertones. He wished that Megatron would sit down; it was so awkward to keep looking up at him. “Do you have a thing for helpless mechs?”

“No,” Megatron said. “I have a thing for intelligent mechs who ask the right kinds of questions, face pain with determination, appreciate poetry, and don't take nonsense from others just because societal graces dictate that they should.”

The Seeker stared up at him with his mouth slightly open as his insides started doing little flip-flops that had nothing to do with anything he'd ingested last night. Megatron cleared his throat and shuffled, his face flushing slightly.

“I, uh... I should get going now,” he said. “It's a long trip back to Kaon. Um... Would it be alright if I wrote you sometime?”

“Wrote... Like a letter?”

“Yes, like that.”

“I... guess?”

“Good, good. I'll do that, then.” He was starting to back away down the stairs now. “Oh, and, uh... a cube of low-grade with two spoonfuls of lead flakes mixed in will help with the fallout from the plutonium.”

“...thanks.”

And then he was gone. Starscream thought about going after him—seeing him out to the door, or something—but found himself glued in place, trying to register what had just happened. He was still sitting there, staring off down the stairs some ten minutes later when Skywarp came bounding back out of their parents' room, Thundercracker stumbling along behind him.

“Where'd the fun guy go?” Skywarp wanted to know.

“He went home,” Starscream told him.

“Will he come back?”

“Maybe.” Starscream pointedly avoided Thundercracker's questioning gaze as he finally pushed himself up to his feet. “I'm going to get some low-grade.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I'm doing National Novel Writing Month this year (google it), so this'll be the last chapter until sometime near the beginning of December.


	8. In Which Repercussions are Felt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey. Look at that! It's finally a new chapter.

_::Have you seen the news yet?::_

Starscream frowned at the message. It was from Slipstream, and there was a garishly cute smiley face attached to it. He had seen the news—he'd put it on that morning as an excuse to ignore Thundercracker's incessant wheedling about Megatron—and most of it had been about an officer in Rodion who'd been killed while chasing down a couple of slave traders. Interesting, but not the sort of thing that typically caught his cousin's attention.

 _::Yes::_ he shot back after a while, and returned his attention to the box of rocks he'd been arranging in his display case. To anyone else, they were just ordinary minerals, but to Starscream, they were fine samples of geological diversity—forensic evidence of the history of the universe. They were also reminders of a time when he'd actually enjoyed his life.

He pulled out a chunk of limestone with a stripe of calcite running through it and turned it over in his hands for a moment. It had come from a beach that Skyfire had found on the last planet they'd explored together. Well, not really together. They'd landed there a couple of days after Starscream had gotten the transmission about his parents. He hadn't been so good at getting out of his berth at that point, but Skyfire had come back one day and tossed him the sample, saying he'd found a beach covered in the stuff, which was weird because limestone was such a soft rock that you'd think it would've all eroded into sand. Starscream had to see it.

The calcite veins reflecting back the setting sun like rivulets of fire was engrained in his memory banks as one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. They'd sat there staring at it, Starscream nestled safely against Skyfire's side, for hours until the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon.

And then he'd announced that he was going home.

He sighed and set the limestone on the shelf with the other mixed formation types.

_::Which news did you watch?::_

Slipstream again. Wasn't she at work today?

_::Vos Central. Why?::_

Apparently, Aerial had caught her because several minutes stretched by without any reply. Starscream let his thoughts drift back to his memories.

Skyfire hadn't been a friend in the beginning; he was just a really big shuttle bot that the Air Commander had hired to watch his son on off-planet expeditions. Starscream had assumed when they met that he was the sort of senseless brute who could pick up two mechs in each hand and crush their skulls together. It was a bit of a shock when he realized that Skyfire had actually been hired because he was patient and sensible enough to keep a volatile young Seeker in line while also being intelligent enough to work as his assistant. He _could_ pick up two bots in each hand, but he would like as not then sit them down on his knees and ask about their troubles rather than crush any part of them.

It was much more of a shock when he realized, after nearly a million years of working in close quarters with each other, that Skyfire was in love with him. He'd spent the next half a million years pretending he hadn't the slightest clue because he was terrified of what would happen if it didn't work out.

But that was a big secret to hold onto for so long, and when it finally came out, Starscream couldn't think of any more reasons to say no. Except that he wanted Skyfire as his friend, not his mate, but he was afraid that telling him would hurt him. Not telling him had been just as hurtful in the end, because as much as he cared about Skyfire, he hadn't been able to give him what he wanted. And Skyfire was too nice to think it was anyone's fault but his own.

Even Skyfire had his limits though, and apparently Starscream moving back to Cybertron was it. Because Starscream hadn't been entirely truthful in what he'd told Thundercracker last night—he had tried to contact Skyfire since he'd come back. There just hadn't been any reply.

Starscream was setting the last of his rocks in place when a knock sounded at the door.

“It's open!” he called out, and the door slid back.

“I thought you were cleaning this slag hole,” Thundercracker remarked as he picked his way through the mess, Skywarp trotting along behind him. “It looks even worse than it did yesterday.”

“I'm reorganizing,” Starscream corrected him.

“What's this, Star?” Skywarp asked, plucking a portable ion microscope out of a pile of dirty clothes.

“Not a toy,” the older Seeker snapped, snatching it out of his pudgy hands. He thought better of it a split-second later when he saw the look on Skywarp's face, and bent down to his brother's level. “It's for looking at super tiny things. Here, I'll show you.”

Skywarp hesitated just a second before moving closer. Starscream took a minute to adjust the knobs to one of the more colorful settings before motioning for Skywarp to look through the eyepiece.

“Woah!” the sparkling gasped. “What are all the moving things?”

“Atoms,” his brother told him. “Everything in the universe is made out of atoms.”

Skywarp turned the microscope toward his face then and laughed. “Your face is made of atoms, too!”

“Yup. So is yours,” Starscream agreed, reaching over to fluff his hair. Then he looked up to see Thundercracker watching him with a strange smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” his other little brother shrugged. “Just... you have your moments.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he demanded, straightening up again.

“It's good to see you not being mean for once,” Thundercracker told him.

“What!? I'm not mean!” his brother protested. “I just... I display authority.”

“You are too mean!” Skywarp put in.

“Isn't he just, though?” Thundercracker asked, switching into his sparkling voice.

“I am _not!_ I was never mean to you, was I?”

“Well... Not all the time.”

“When!? What did I do that was mean?” he demanded.

“You always yell!” Skywarp pointed out.

“Especially at anyone who tries to talk to you while you're studying,” Thundercracker added.

“Well, duh!” Starscream made a conscious effort to keep his volume down. “Do you have any idea how stressful it was getting through the science academy?”

“And you never give me candy,” Skywarp insisted, folding his arms.

“I just gave you candy, like, four... six days ago!”

“Does he ever lock up your toys?” Thundercracker wanted to know. Skywarp nodded vigorously. “For shame, Star. I thought Mom told you to stop that.”

Starscream sneered at him.

“Don't worry about it too much Warp,” the middle brother shrugged. “You're probably gonna be taller than him in a few years and then you can pay it all back.”

“He might not,” Starscream said quickly. He had no intentions of being The Shortest for any longer than he already had.

Skywarp was giving both of his older brothers a critical examination, though, and Starscream had a feeling he knew why.

“I'm not short,” he said, preemptively. “He's just huge.”

“I'm not even as big as Dad,” Thundercracker pointed out. “Or your new friend.”

“Don't bring that up in front of Warp!” Starscream hissed.

“What? Who? What are you talking about?” the sparkling demanded, sensing the potential for mischief hanging in the air above him.

“Nothing,” Starscream insisted.

“Yeah, nothing at all,” Thundercracker chuckled.

“Did you all need something, or did you just come in here to harass me?” his brother demanded.

“Oh, yeah. I'm taking Warp for a fly. You should come,” Thundercracker remembered.

Something deeply primal throbbed through Starscream's spark at the suggestion. Flying was a basic need for Seekers, like recharge or physical affection, and was usually the one of the three that Starscream was best at making sure he got. He'd been slacking lately, though, and he wasn't sure why. There was definitely a part of him that wanted nothing more than to feel the sun and the rush of air on his wings with his brothers beside him, but there was also a large part of him that was searching for any excuse he could find to say no.

“I've got stuff to do,” he said eventually.

“Come on, Star. You can do that later,” his brother wheedled, nudging him on the arm.

“No, I have to do it now,” Starscream insisted. “I've been telling myself I'd do it later for months. Anyway, I still feel sick from that slag I drank last night.” This was partly true. He mostly felt okay, but the nausea did keep creeping up on him in sudden waves.

“You won't come?” Skywarp asked, staring up at him with those massive, red eyes of his.

“Look at this face. How can you say no to this face?” Thundercracker demanded, crouching down behind Skywarp and making puppy dog eyes of his own.

Starscream gritted his teeth as he considered. It was tempting; the only time Skywarp seemed totally okay with him was when they were flying together. But he really did need to get this done.

“Maybe another time,” he said.

Thundercracker's face fell into that dangerously blank space it did when he had Something to Say, and Starscream groaned inwardly.

“Warp, go wait downstairs for me,” the blue-haired mech ordered, giving the sparkling a little nudge.

“But...” Skywarp began.

“I'll be right there.”

Skywarp sighed, rolled his eyes, and left the room. Thundercracker straightened up, and Starscream tried to ignore him by starting to gather up the pile of books he'd tripped over earlier.

“I'm worried about you, Star,” the younger Seeker finally said.

“Why?” Starscream asked without looking at him.

“I came over here yesterday to find you still in bed at 3 in the afternoon—in _our parents' bed_.”

“So?”

“You've lost weight since you got back, and you didn't have much to lose to begin with; you still haven't really bonded with Skywarp; you're not talking to your best friend—”

“He's the one who won't talk to me!”

“—you drank _plutonium_ last night—”

“That was a total accident!”

“—and _now_ you're not _flying!?_ Star, I think you need to be seeing a counselor.”

Starscream finally turned around, eyes blazing.

“Oh, because _you're_ doing _so_ well!” he spat. “You haven't been here in months! You constantly keep your end of our bond shut, when I message you I barely get one word replies, and Slipstream tells me you've had at least ten partners in the last six months! _You're_ worried about _me?_ TC, I've been worried _sick_ about you!”

“I'm totally fine!” Thundercracker insisted.

“You're in denial is what you are!”

“And you're not!? You know what? Never mind,” Thundercracker said, throwing his hands up. “Stay up here and mope if you want. That's _totally_ what Mom and Dad would want you to do.”

A familiar pain ripped through Starscream's spark, and he stood paralyzed until the sound of his door slamming shut behind Thundercracker jolted him back to life. Another wave of nausea swept over him and he flopped into the pile of laundry on his bed with a groan.

He wasn't good at this. All this communication and being open about his emotions... That had always been his mother's job. Or Skyfire's. He would bury himself in layers of anger and sarcasm, and one of them would carefully peel them back until they figured out what was really wrong and help him fix it. But Thundercracker was also a burrower, and the two of them had been burrowing away from each other in silence for months now. Starscream felt like it was his job to fix it as the oldest, but where did he start?

A little _ping_ sounded from his internal comm system, and he heaved a sigh when he saw it was another message from Slipstream. He thought about ignoring it for a moment, but then decided that he might as well take the distraction.

 _::Not that formal scrap! Look up the_ Insider _report from this morning!::_

A cold fist of anxiety knotted itself somewhere low in Starscream's abdomen as he registered the words and he shot upright on his bed. _Vos Insider_ was a gossip channel for anyone curious about the goings on of the city's upper crust. Even with the aftereffects of plutonium, his processor was fast enough to figure out what they might have had to say that morning that would affect him.

He sprang up and launched himself across the room to his desktop. The screen flickered to life as his fingers flew across the keys, inputting the search.

“No!” he breathed as the page started to populate with results.

 _ **Inside Scoop on Governor Sweetrock's 20,532,000**_ _ **th**_ _ **Birthday Gala!**_ The first one read innocently enough, but just beneath it was, _**Air Commander's Eldest Going Off the Rails Now Daddy's Gone.**_

_**Unusual Overnight Guests at Maelstrom's Manor** _

_**Scientist Starscream Finding All New Ways to Experiment** _

That was as far as he read because then he had to run to the bathroom as his nausea came to a head.

 

* * *

 

“It's disgusting—utterly disgusting.”

“What's that?” Steelrim asked, looking up from the elaborate energon confection he'd been working his way through.

On the other end of the table, his mother snorted before flipping her datapad around and flicking a projection of the screen at him.

“ _This!_ ” she spat.

Steelrim leaned forward, squinting at the image for a moment as he tried to figure out what he was looking at. As far as he could tell, it was just one of the gossip rags his mother followed (it never hurt to know what the lower castes thought they were up to, she always said) with a slightly blurry candid video of someone vomiting into a potted plant on what looked like the front steps of Sweetrock's manor. Then he saw the caption at the top of the article.

“Oh,” he remarked as he finally picked out the more familiar features on the blurry figure now staggering toward the top of the stairs.

“Just wait,” his mother warned him darkly.

He frowned, watched, and winced as his former classmate tumbled head over heels down the stairs.

“Was he alright?” he asked, checking to see if the article next to the video said anything on the matter.

“Seemed to be,” his mother sniffed. “He climbed into the back of a transport with a _gladiator_ of all things a few minutes after that.”

“He _what!?_ ” Steelrim hastily scrolled down the article until he found the footage of this event and relaxed significantly when he saw Thundercracker and Slipstream also climbing into the transport.

“Oh, that's that Megatron guy,” he observed, thinking that the gladiator's hands were still in places that should have been only his to touch (namely, anywhere on Starscream's anatomy).

“Steel, darling, don't tell me you've been indulging in blood sports,” his mother said sternly as she cut the projection.

“Of course not!” he protested hastily. “I just hear the other mechs talking about it at work.”

“Good. You know how I feel about gladiators.”

 _That it should've been your idea to open the first rings,_ Steelrim thought to himself.

“Is your father back yet?” his mother wanted to know, and he frowned again.

He didn't understand exactly how his parents' bond worked. From what he had gathered, most mated pairs could tell where the other one was anywhere on the planet. As a youngling, he'd been with Starscream and his mother once when Daybreak had suddenly sat up straighter and announced, “Your father's on his way home.” Maelstrom had been on Denion at the time— _four systems away!_ When Steelrim finally bonded Starscream, they would be that kind of couple, he was sure.

“I don't know,” he told his mother, picking another bite from his fuel and reflecting that he would have to look up that article and read it properly later. He probably ought to call on Starscream in person as well. Primus knew what that gladiator might have done to him last night. Hopefully, Thundercracker would have kept him at bay for the most part. Although, that brought up another issue. He wasn't so sure about going to see Starscream while his brother was at home; Steelrim had gotten the impression lately that the young lieutenant wasn't very fond of him for some reason. All the same, he had responsibilities to his betrothed...

“Something needs to be done about this,” his mother was saying now, tapping her nails on the table in a rhythm of irritation.

“About what?”

“Them!” she hissed, jabbing a finger at the screen again. “They'll be doing whatever they want now their parents are gone; mark my words! Not that they were especially well-behaved when their parents were around. The older one in particular—he takes after his mother.”

Steelrim smiled. He _liked_ that Starscream was feisty and blunt. It would make it that much better to have him for his own.

“Do you remember that time when he humiliated me in front of Councilman Vigor?” his mother went on.

“You _did_ insinuate that his mother was intentionally starving him.”

“He's titchy! It's either that or he's not Maelstrom's. Doesn't look much like Maelstrom for that matter...”

“No, I think Maelstrom cared about him too much for him to be anyone else's,” Steelrim mused, now remembering how Starscream used to get panic attacks when he was younger and how the gruff old Air Commander would always hold him and talk to him with the patience of a saint until his breathing went back to normal and the tears dried from his face, no matter how long it took. He'd always wondered if perhaps having one's children later in life made them more precious.

His mother just snorted in derision. “You spent too much time with that family when you were little. No doubt because Daybreak pumped you full of sweets every time you were over there. Couldn't stand her own son gaining weight, but perfectly happy to overfuel other people's!”

“Starscream doesn't like sweet things, anyway,” Steelrim protested. “He prefers spicy things. And mercury.”

“I'm disgusted and slightly concerned that you know that,” his mother told him.

“It's important for politicians to be able to recall minor details about people,” he backtracked hastily, and his mother hummed at him, engrossed in her datapad once more.

Steelrim sighed and pushed the rest of his fuel away from himself. His parents would never understand his relationship with Starscream; they were too blinded by the age-old rivalry they'd had with his parents. But Steelrim had his own ideas about how he could use that to his advantage.

“I'm going out,” he announced as he got up.

“Be careful,” his mother said automatically without looking up.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was alone in the kitchen, stirring lead flakes into another dose of low grade when the back doorbell rang. The sound jolted him violently, and the contents of the cube sloshed out over his hands.

Swearing and sucking energon off himself, he made his way to the view screen in the hall to see who was at the door. He swore again when he saw Steelrim shuffling awkwardly on the back steps. His first thought was to ignore the interloper, but then it occurred to him that Steelrim's presence could actually be a blessing for once. There was no way the idiot was happy with the rest of Vos thinking that his “secret betrothed” was sleeping with gladiators. Whatever Starscream told him to the contrary, he was bound to spread around as far as he could.

“Star!” Steelrim immediately gushed when he'd opened the door. “You look radiant as ever.”

As Starscream was well aware that he currently had a complexion just several shades north of gunmetal gray and was sporting miraculously red rings under his eyes, he simply folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, raising a disbelieving eyebrow in reply.

“Is there anyone else around?” the other mech asked, peering tentatively into the dark hallway beyond as if he would somehow get a view of the whole house that way.

“Thundercracker went out flying with Skywarp a little while ago,” Starscream told him.

“No one else?”

“We don't have any servants right now.”

“What!? Why not? I mean... I meant any guests.”

“No. Were you expecting someone?”

“Star,” Steelrim's face had turned into a mixture of affection and concern that Starscream wished he could slap off it. “If you made a mistake, it's okay. I'll forgive you.”

“What the frag are you going on about?” Starscream demanded, feigning ignorance.

“The... the gladiator—Megatron,” Steelrim reminded him, blinking in confusion. “There are videos of him taking you home all over the net.”

“And what? You think I gave him some sort of 'reward' for his troubles?” He tried to put as much offended incredulity into the question as possible.

“Did you not?”

“Primus, no!” Starscream laughed. “He's Slipstream's, not mine! Surprisingly nice for one of Slipstream's, though.”

“Oh. Well, uh...” Steelrim ran a hand through the hairs on the back of his neck. “Could I come in for a bit?”

Starscream hesitated. He really didn't want Steelrim in his house, but he did want to keep him feeling chummy right now. It couldn't really hurt, could it? He just needed to get him out before his brothers returned because like Pit was he letting Steelrim within a hundred astrometers of Skywarp.

In the end, he stepped aside and gestured for the other mech to enter. Steelrim smiled and swept into the hall.

“Been ages since I was here,” he said, running a finger along the wainscoting.

“We can go to the old sitting room,” Starscream told him. “I'll just be a minute; I was grabbing some fuel when you showed up.”

“Oh, I can come with you.”

Well, the sooner they talked about whatever he wanted to talk about, the sooner he'd leave.

“Fine, then.”

Steelrim paused a moment in the door of the kitchen, looking around at the state of it. “Where _have_ all your servants gone?” he wanted to know, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

“I got rid of them,” Starscream answered, dumping out what remained of his first attempt at a fallout cure and scooping more lead flakes into the cube.

“I thought you hated lead,” Steelrim said.

“I do. It's disgusting,” Starscream sniffed. “I accidentally drank plutonium last night, though, and this is the only thing that's helping.”

“Accidentally?”

“I'm not in the habit of poisoning myself, unlike so many of our peers,” he snapped, pouring low grade into the cube now. The lead sizzled slightly as it dissolved, and the energon took on a silvery sheen. Starscream made a face as he stirred it. “I was already a bit overcharged and I didn't pay enough attention to what I was grabbing.”

“You must be feeling awful,” Steelrim said, his voice dripping with sympathy. “I rememb- I've _heard_ that taking radioactives for the first time is Pit the next day.”

Starscream snorted and knocked back a long gulp of the mixture. He choked on it and surfaced coughing.

“What did you want to talk about?” he wheezed when he'd finished.

“Well...” Steelrim reached over and started picking the label off a half-empty bottle of mercury on the counter beside him, avoiding Starscream's gaze. “I guess I wanted to talk about us.”

Starscream's grip on his cube tightened reflexively as a stab of pain went through his head. This wasn't really the best time to be doing this (yet again), but...

“Steelrim, _there is no 'us!'_ ” he said, as forcefully as he could manage.

“I know, I know. You're under a lot of stress right now and you can't really be dealing with someone else, too, but...”

“Primus! It's like you've got some weird kind of filter on your hearing!” he grumbled, leaning back against the counter and massaging his forehead with the knuckles of one hand. “I've told you this a million times already: there is no us, and there is never going to _be_ an us! I don't like you like that.”

“You sure know how to keep a mech interested, but let's stop the games for a second and—”

Starscream slammed his cube down on the counter with a scream of frustration. It shattered in his hand, and his scream morphed into pain as one of the shards lodged itself in his palm.

“FRAG IT ALL!” he shrieked, stomping his foot without a care for how immature it looked.

“Are you alright?” Steelrim was at his side in a second.

“Just get me a towel or something!” he snapped as energon started oozing out around the annoyingly sizable piece of glass sticking out of his hand. For one insane moment, he thought about pulling it out and just watching as the thick, blue liquid pooled in his palm before spilling unobstructed to the kitchen floor. He looked away quickly, his stomach churning again, and sank down against the cupboard.

Steelrim came back with one of the kitchen towels and took a firm but gentle hold of Starscream's wrist.

“I'm gonna pull it out,” he said.

“Don't—!!” Starscream began, trying to jerk his hand back, but Steelrim had already gotten a hold of the shard and the motion just helped him pull it loose. The energon barely had time to start flowing before Steelrim had swathed his hand with the towel, tying it off good and tight.

“You should have a doctor look at this,” he said, laying the bandaged hand back in Starscream's lap. “Self-repair will _probably_ take care of it, but hands have a lot of fiddly bits, you know.”

“Yes, I am a scientist, thank you very much,” Starscream snapped, admiring Steelrim's handiwork despite himself. Two injuries in one week, though; the doctor was going to start thinking he was doing it on purpose.

“Star,” Steelrim said, his gaze turning down to his own lap. His tone signaled that they were most likely returning to the previous conversation, and Starscream braced himself to be irritated again. “I guess I just... I don't like thinking about you being with other mechs.”

“It's really none of your business,” Starscream told him.

“Well, of course, you have a right to fulfill your needs same as I do, but I don't understand why we can't... I dunno... do it together.”

“What?”

“I know you said you wanna try being with other mechs first, but how long do I have to wait before you'll be with me?” Steelrim shuffled closer even as Starscream shrank back into the cupboard he was sitting up against. He carefully shut his bond with his brothers, just in case.

“I don't want to be with you,” he said quickly, starting to get up.

Steelrim grabbed his leg and tugged him back down.

“I thought I could be patient, but when I saw you again last night... I'm getting tired of waiting, Star.”

Starscream felt like he'd been frozen in place as Steelrim came closer, running a hand up his outer thigh to rest on his hip. He couldn't pull any air through his vents, and his spark was beating a frantic warning against its casing. His vision swam as Steelrim's hooded eyes filled it. A hand on his hip; a hand on his waist; another mech leaning over him; the handle of the cupboard digging into his back; moist, warm air venting across his face...

“Don't be scared,” Steelrim breathed, and then he was clamping his mouth over Starscream's, one hand coming up to cup the smaller Seeker's face while the other one started sliding up under his shirt...

And suddenly Starscream could move again. He bit down, _hard_ , on Steelrim's tongue before punching him in the throat. The larger mech pulled back, choking. Starscream rolled out from underneath him and took up a fighting stance with all the speed and grace of someone who'd trained under the best martial arts instructors Vos had to offer—not to mention its Air Commander—almost since he was old enough to stand.

“Next time, I punch you with my blaster!” he spat, standing well out of Steelrim's reach. “Now, get out of my house!”

The other Seeker stared up at him with something between shock and hurt, his vocalizer still fritzing.

“Get out, or I'll tell my brother you tried to rape me!”

Steelrim's eyes went wide, and he started scrambling to his feet. He gave Starscream a wide berth as he fled the kitchen, but the smaller mech didn't relax until he heard the door slam shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Starscream sank to the floor again, breathing heavily and clutching his head in his hands. He felt sick and wrong and like he needed to scrub all of his skin off. At least he had thought to close his bond; he didn't want his brothers to know anything about this. Thundercracker had enough on his plate and, well, Skywarp was five.

After a few minutes, he got up and headed back toward his bedroom, head still throbbing. It seemed that all he'd gotten from his second dose of lead was a bad aftertaste.

 


	9. In Which Megatron Daydreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see a typo, shoot it for me. I enjoyed this chapter, but it took so long to get it out that I couldn't bring myself to proofread it one last time...
> 
> Also, you might notice that I changed the rating on this story. I was debating if it would have explicit content or not for a while, and finally came up with a compromise: on AO3, it will have explicit content. On FFnet, it will not. Because I have kids I work with who are excited that I write stories with gay representation but are too young to read that stuff. So, I'll just have two versions and then everyone can be happy. Yay. Editing it out without compromising the story will be a fun exercise anyway.
> 
> But that's all a ways off still. Pbtpbtpbtpbt. Enjoy the gladiator fights for now.

Megatron was plenty aware of the dangers of day dreaming. You met a mech once or twice, got to thinking he was kind of cute, started building fantasies of him, and the next thing you knew, you had this totally fake version of him laid out in your head that the real one could never compare to because it in no way corresponded to the actual mech. He'd made the mistake enough times in the past that he would have thought he was over it, but he just couldn't help himself this time.

The whole five hour trip back to Kaon, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Starscream had looked in the light of the stained glass windows, that perfect smile of his on the balcony, or the way he'd felt in his arms carrying him through the halls. Before he could stop himself, Megatron found himself thinking about how much better this trip would be if the Seeker were sitting in the seat beside him right now. They could talk about politics or literature, and Starscream might get that vibrant light to his eyes again. Megatron thought that he would purposely disagree with everything he said, just to watch him get riled up. Then, he would apologize and smooth the creases out of his pretty little forehead with little kisses and soft words, and Starscream might relax into him and fall asleep...

He smiled lightly at the memory of the Seeker's sleeping face and tried to imagine the sensation of his warmth and weight against him.

And then he shook himself and tried to find more sensible things to think about—like where they were going to find doctors willing to work in Kaon of all places—but before long, he was thinking about how Starscream could probably hook them up with someone and how good the Seeker would look while guilt-tripping the doctors in question into helping out their fellow Cybertronians.

He heaved a sigh. It would be really nice if Starscream didn't turn out to be just like all the other high-casters.

The main terminal of Kaon City's 24th district was little more than a giant block of concrete with a tunnel for the transport to slip through. Every couple hundred years or so, the whole thing had to be rebuilt because of structural integrity problems. It was the inevitable fate of all concrete buildings, but it didn't stop the city-state from using it as their main building material. After all, construction was a big industry in Kaon.

The current edition of the transit station was about 150 years old and already starting to show the telling cracks in its walls. Megatron tapped the one by the exit turnstile out of habit as he passed.

Soundwave was waiting for him on the other side, a somewhat rudimentary but distinctly feline-looking creature crouched by his side. The other patrons of the station were giving the two of them a wide berth.

“Hey, you,” Megatron greeted him. “What brings you all the way out here? And with Ravage, at that.”

The other mech shifted his weight to one side and folded long, wiry arms across his chest. The cat made a mechanical hissing noise.

“What?” Megatron demanded, pulling back slightly.

The screen of Soundwave's mask flickered on and immediately started populating with what looked like the covers of various gossip magazines and sleazy news sites. Megatron frowned and leaned in closer to look at them.

“Last night; enjoyed yourself?” Soundwave asked him.

“Oh, sweet Primus...” the gladiator muttered as he read through the headlines. He leaned back again and jabbed a finger at the accusing screen. “I took him home and put him to bed; that's all!”

“Switchback; highly amused,” Soundwave said, and his screen went dark again.

“What? Why? I would have thought he'd be pissed.”

“Gossip; worth its weight in shanix.”

Megatron blanched. “He didn't... He wants me to do an exclusive, doesn't he?”

Soundwave just shrugged. Megatron groaned and started toward the exit, his broad shoulders cutting an easy path through the crowd. When Soundwave didn't immediately follow, Ravage bumped his head insistently against his leg. The faceless mech held his hand out and the feline pushed against it momentarily before the both of them set off after Megatron.

 

* * *

 

Most districts of Kaon had a gladiator ring these days. The sport had first sprung up near the beginning of the Quintesson occupation some 34 million years ago because, naturally, the Quintessons enjoyed watching their new slaves clobber each other to death. It had gone out during the Golden Age as a reminder of Cybertronian oppression, except in those darkest parts of the Cybertronian empire where violence was never out of fashion.

Then, the Rust Plague had swept through the colony planets. The space bridges closed to save Cybertron from the same fate, the economy tanked, infrastructure collapsed, and civil wars and riots swept across the planet, leaving everyone a bit more jaded, a bit more cynical, a bit more eager to watch someone else suffer for once. And back then, Megatron had been one of them—convinced that there was nothing left worth living for.

Nowadays, he fought for Kaon City's 24th district ring, which was smaller than most people thought he deserved, but he'd been there a while now and switching to a different ring would mean eventually fighting against gladiators he'd known and trained with for most of his better millennia. Switchback, the manager of the ring, was more or less the same as the managers of any other rings he'd been at—underhanded, oily, and someone Megatron wouldn't trust as far as he could throw him. However, he had the added benefit of being easily intimidated and therefore easy to live with.

There was a small group of mechs loitering around the back entrance to the ring when Megatron got there. They all started nudging each other and whispering in amused undertones when they saw him coming.

“Megatron! The conquering hero returns!” one of them called out from a seat on the railing of the entrance steps. He was another large one, almost as big as Megatron himself, and had the distinctly bright-eyed look of someone who spent too much time on circuit speeders. There was a large can of cheap high grade clutched in one of his hands. “Heard you had a good party.”

Megatron yanked the can out of his hand and chucked it as hard as he could at the row of factories on the other side of the street. It hit them with the force of a small missile and exploded in a shower of foaming, greenish energon. The building held—a testament to the superior construction skills of Golden Age Kaonians.

“Frag, Megatron! You coulda killed someone with that!” the can's previous owner whined.

“How many times have I told you not to drink before matches, Grind!?” Megatron snapped at him. “You lost both your legs in the last one!”

“Nah, see: it's this thing I read about—you're always telling us to read more, right?—this thing they do in Stanix called overcharged boxing? Supposed to make you unpredictable and loose. Watch!”

He swayed back and forth, making weird yowling noises and waving his arms in front of his face. Megatron watched him for a moment before reaching out and jabbing his forehead with a single finger. Grind toppled backward off the railing with a yelp and just managed to turn the fall into an elaborate gymnastics maneuver.

“Go sober up,” Megatron ordered him. “Or I'll tell Switchback to cancel your match.”

The other gladiator grumbled something under his breath about canceling Megatron before stalking off toward one of the entrances closer to the wash racks.

“How was Vos?” one of the remaining mechs asked.

“One of the more ostentatious displays of frivolity I've been subjected to in my lifetime,” Megatron replied without sparing him a glance.

“Didn't ask you to compose a poem on the spot, but okay,” the other mech chuckled. “Wasn't all bad, though. Air Commander's son, eh? Thought you'd be a bit more relaxed after that. He looked nice and tight.”

Megatron turned to him now, face darkening.

“Oo, or was he a little too tight?” one of the others leered. “Couldn't get it in all the way? Was that the problem?”

“Stop,” Megatron growled.

“Megs doesn't kiss and tell,” the third mech yawned. He was smaller than the others and had a wiry look to his frame, almost as if he were made of coiled springs. “Otherwise everyone would know about that time you tried to blow him under the stands, Clutch.”

“What!? Tripwire! I didn't...” The mech in question flushed vibrantly and looked back and forth between his comrades in desperation. “I never did! Megatron, tell them I didn't!”

Megatron just rolled his eyes and walked off, the sound of the other two mechs' laughter following him until the door shut again.

Switchback was in the middle of a call when Megatron came storming into his office, but quickly cut it off as soon as he got one good look at his champion gladiator's face.

“Megsy-boy!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide and plastering on his best smile. “Always happy to see you drop by, of course, but to what do I owe the—“

He stopped as Megatron reached across the desk and seized him by his overly shiny tie.

“Cancel it,” he growled, pulling the smaller mech forward so that they were almost nose-to-nose.

“Sure! I'd love to! Anything for you, Megs!” Switchback stammered. “But, uh... What am I canceling?”

“The articles, the interviews, and whatever other 'juicy insider details' you've promised those paparazzi sharkticons about Starscream,” the gladiator clarified.

“Ah. That. Well... You know I thought you'd be happy to tell the world how you bedded the Air Commander's son. Are you sure—“

“Except that I _didn't_ ,” Megatron snarled. “And telling the world that I _did_ is just going to destroy any potential for future dealings between him and our ring.”

Switchback's eyes flashed for the briefest moment, and then the smaller mech cleared his throat. “What, uh... What kind of dealings?” he asked.

“Oh, I dunno.” Megatron released him and carefully tucked his neck tie back into his jacket. “But you know how it is: rich young high-caster becomes enamored with a gladiator, wants his gladiator to be the coolest one around, gives gladiator's ring money for remodels... It's an old story.”

He had worked that one out on the way over from the station and calculated it as the perfect lie—just true enough to be believable while leaving out the main point, which was, of course, that he genuinely did not want to blow his shot at Starscream. Switchback seemed to be buying it, too; Megatron could practically hear the connections firing in his processor as he worked out the pros and cons of an instant return versus a long-term investment.

And then he frowned.

“Wait, you really didn't sleep with him?” he asked.

Megatron rolled his eyes and took a step back from the desk. “Why is this so hard for everyone to grasp?”

“Well, it's just... a big, healthy mech in his prime like yourself with a juicy little tidbit like that hanging off his arm... How could you resist?”

“The same way that I always do,” Megatron snapped. “By reminding myself that there are benefits to taking my time on things.”

“Fair enough,” Switchback muttered, reaching for a holofile on one of the far corners of his desk. “That being said, if he's not throwing his money at you in the next couple months, can we do an expose then? Sort of a, 'Megatron Reveals All About Licentious High-casters!' kinda deal?”

“No,” the gladiator growled. “There will be no revealing of anyone!”

“Aw, Megsy! You're really throttling my profit margin here.”

“Would you prefer I throttled something else?”

“Point taken, point taken,” Switchback muttered. “Sheesh, you're lucky you bring in more than half our revenue... Anyway, while you're here, this is the dossier on your opponent tonight.”

“I don't have a match tonight,” Megatron said automatically. He'd gotten the whole weekend off for the governor's party, just in case.

“Well, unless you want someone like Grind or Snare fighting this one for you, then you do,” Switchback told him, tossing the file across the desk at him.

The gladiator's scowl deepened and he picked it up. The papers inside documented someone called Cutthroat. He looked like he had been aptly named. Megatron glanced through his gladiatorial resume and saw only kill after brutal kill.

“How is someone like him fighting for the sixth district?” he wondered aloud. “He should be down in one of the Dark Pits.”

“Slater borrowed him to increase his ring's appeal with the richer crowds,” his manager sighed. “Or, more likely, to take out any of my gladiators that he can.”

Megatron hummed thoughtfully and downloaded the file's contents to his personal drive.

“So, you'll take the match?” Switchback's eyes glimmered.

“Mechs like him don't belong in my town,” Megatron told him. “I'll make it as showy as possible when I knock his glitching head off, but _only_ if you keep your word about the articles! I catch one whiff of you spilling details about my personal life, and I'll end all my matches for the next month in less than three seconds.”

“You can't—”

“Can't I?”

The two mechs stared at each other for a moment, red eyes on yellow, and Switchback looked away first.

“I already said I wouldn't,” he muttered. “No need to make threats; it's like you don't trust me!”

“I had thought that was abundantly clear from the moment we met, Switchback,” Megatron sighed.

 

* * *

 

The rings were always wild on weekends, but it had been a while since Megatron had seen one quite so packed. Apparently, this Cutthroat fellow was more popular than he'd given him credit for.

He had seen the other gladiator getting himself revved up in one of the practice rooms earlier that evening. Cutthroat had power and viciousness for sure, but Megatron had fought giant pit hounds with more finesse and technical intelligence. The mech hadn't noticed him at all for the 30 or so minutes that he and Soundwave had been lingering in the doorway of the practice room.

The crowds got more and more restless as the night wore on until they were barely paying attention anymore by the end of the last match—Grind against two smaller mechs who both were taken away on stretchers (Megatron was pretty sure they were still alive). The young mech received his winner's token from that evening's patron—some Kaonian politician—and made his way back to the wings to a roaring chorus of Megatron's name.

“The odds are on for you to lose this one,” he commented as he passed his colleague in the passageway leading into the ring. As he was mechanized and Megatron still was not, he had to look down a bit to address him.

“They're just playing Unicron's advocate,” Megatron grunted. “ _You_ could beat this guy if you were sober enough.”

“Maybe,” Grind conceded with an overly bright smile. He'd given up the high grade, but was clearly still buzzing on circuit speeders. “Are you giving them a good bit of energon tonight?”

“We'll see,” Megatron shrugged, adjusting his grip on his sword. “Your arm is broken. Did you notice?”

Grind glanced at the appendage, which was dangling uselessly from the elbow down, and gave a little laugh. “I'd forgotten. Thanks, Megs! You always got my back.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Megatron muttered as he watched the other gladiator waltz away down the tunnel toward the medical bay, whistling a jaunty tune as he went.

Megatron rolled his eyes and turned back to the opening to the ring. There were several drones out there, cleaning up the rubble of the last match, and Megatron watched them work as he considered.

As a gladiator, Megatron was known for two things: winning all of his matches, and winning them through cunning strategy. Against this opponent, though, he felt like it would almost be cruel and unusual punishment to come up with any sort of strategy. Cutthroat clearly had one thing on his mind, and that was crushing his opponent as gruesomely as possible. If Megatron came out there _thinking_ , it just wouldn't be a fair fight, and he had promised Switchback that he wouldn't end this in three seconds.

He sighed and glanced down at his energon sword as he waited for the call to enter the ring. It was a decent sword, though he had no real emotional attachment to it. Back in his early days, he had done the whole getting attached to weapons thing, but after the fourth or fifth one broke, you started seeing them for what they were—pieces of metal to break or be broken. You started seeing everything that way after a while, even the other mechs. It had taken Megatron a long time to pull himself back out of that way of thinking.

The announcer was starting to introduce the match now, and Megatron closed his eyes, focusing in on his breathing.

What was he fighting for tonight? He had to have a reason, or else he was the same as all the brutes who fought just to bash other mechs' heads in. Tonight, he was fighting in part to remove one such brute from the world, he supposed. Megatron knew well the kinds of things that happened in the Dark Pits and the kinds of mechs who did them. They were some of the few bots that he earnestly believed deserved the gory ends that they inevitably met, and he felt real anger beginning to smolder deep in his center as he thought of the atrocities he had witnessed mechs like Cutthroat committing both in and out of the ring in the past.

To seal the deal, he decided to indulge in just a little more fantasy; he called to mind the image of a perfect face with intelligent red eyes pulled into a bit of a scowl. He felt his own face twist into the shadow of a grin as he imagined Starscream standing pristine and disapproving beside him in the wings now.

And then he imagined those lovely eyes widened in terror, the Seeker trapped with nowhere to fly, as Cutthroat reached for him, a wicked grin spread across his stupid face.

The crowd outside rose up in a cheer, and Megatron opened his eyes to see his opponent stepping out into the ring, arms raised to the crowd and his mouth open wide in a roar of encouragement at their cheers and jeers alike. A cold fury swept through the other gladiator. Of course, Cutthroat had never even met Starscream and likely never would, but Megatron didn't doubt he'd met plenty of other mechs and femmes who were too weak or inexperienced to escape him in the past. He wouldn't be meeting any more if Megatron could help it.

He mechanized. The thick miner's armor he had inherited from his mother shifted into place around him, and he rolled his shoulders one after the other as he watched the other gladiator move around the ring, getting a feel for it.

“And, from our own 24th district,” the announcer was calling now, “your champion who hasn't fallen yet—Megatronus!!”

Megatron stepped into the ring, rolling his eyes a bit at the introduction—the announcers always insisted on using his old name, despite the fact that it had been millennia since anyone except his opponents had actually addressed him by it.

The roar of the crowd deafened, the lights of the coliseum blinded, and Megatron shut them out to focus on the mech in front of him. Cutthroat was fair vibrating with his eagerness to sink his sword into his opponent. Megatron began to circle around the outside of the ring. These few seconds before the bell sounded for the start of the match were often the most important—the gladiators who learned to use them well were the ones who survived.

Cutthroat was big, clearly from one of the industrial castes, and his armor looked thick. An energon sword would go through it, but not deep enough to do real damage unless he aimed for the weak points. There were a few—his joints, of course, but also places where the armor looked slightly warped or was seamed with old welds. Megatron took stock of them along with the small energon baton that Cutthroat had clipped to one hip to accompany the massive, flanged energon mace clutched in his hands.

Megatron had promised Switchback a show, and he had a feeling Cutthroat was going to make it easy to give one.

The bell sounded.

Predictably, Cutthroat charged first, swinging his mace as he came. Megatron also charged to match the other mech's momentum and blocked his swing. Cutthroat pushed his sword down, driving it into the dirt of the arena floor, before bracing it there with his foot and thrusting his mace forward at Megatron's face. Megatron dodged the weapon easily and seized his opponent's outstretched arm.

Cutthroat was the same size as Megatron, but the former miner had lifted heavier loads in his day. He grunted with the effort still as he swung the other mech straight up over his head and threw him. Cutthroat betrayed Megatron's expectations of his abilities to think on his feet then by swinging out a counterstrike mid-arch. As Megatron was still bent around half-upside down from his throw at the time, he saw it coming and twisted around, sword in hand once more.

The blow caught him on the left shoulder. He hissed as one of the mace's flanges bit into the armor, just deep enough to draw energon. His own strike had sliced across Cutthroat's face, and the mech bellowed with pain for a second until he landed on his back and the air whumped from his vents.

Megatron wasted no time before leaping up—both for showmanship and momentum—to bring his sword down on the fallen gladiator's face. Cutthroat met his eyes mid-jump and grinned, face covered in his own energon, before rolling out of the way at the last second. Megatron's sword went deep into the arena floor. He managed to get it out just in time to knock aside the blow swinging down at his head with the end of his hilt.

Cutthroat started reaching for the weapon at his waist, and Megatron hastily kicked him in the stomach as hard as he could. Cutthroat flew backward, but not before catching Megatron's chin with the upward stroke of a deactivated energon baton.

Megatron found himself staggering backward, energon flooding his mouth, and counting his lucky stars that the idiot hadn't managed to activate the baton before hitting him.

On the other side of the arena, Cutthroat was picking himself up out of the dirt and preparing to face him again. This time, he didn't charge but began circling the ring as Megatron had done at the beginning of the match, that wretched grin still stretching his scarred and bleeding face.

“I've heard about you, Megatronus,” he called, just loud enough to be heard over the frantic cheers of the crowd. “The gladiator with morals, is it? Handing out extra fuel to shareware bots and saving younglings from the speed dealers?”

Megatron spat energon into the dirt without taking his eyes off the other gladiator.

“You're the same as the rest of us, though, aren't you?” Cutthroat continued. “Just a beast, clawing your way through the dirt, crushing anyone and everyone beneath your feet as you go.”

That was a surprisingly good image, Megatron reflected. It would go nicely in a poem he was working on.

Cutthroat seemed to be getting frustrated that his taunts were getting no rise from his opponent, and Megatron could easily guess what was coming next.

“Half-Seeker, are you? So, tell me, just how much of a whore _was_ your moth—”

He had to stop mid-sentence when Megatron's sword came swinging at his throat.

Cutthroat used the handle of his mace to block, but the blow sent him staggering backward. Megatron was already swinging again, but Cutthroat decided to play chicken with him apparently and swung his mace at his opponent's exposed flank instead of blocking the sword coming at his own. With a hiss of annoyance, Megatron diverted his swing to protect himself instead, bracing his sword with both hands.

The other gladiator took advantage of his preoccupied limbs and managed to reach his own free hand in to grab Megatron's face. He gave a shove and sent the silver mech off balance. They both went down, and Megatron grunted as the impact and Cutthroat's weight on top of him knocked the air from his vents. He regained his senses just in time to see the energon baton coming at his face, now glowing with charge. He swung an arm up to block. The baton glanced off his armor and sank into his already injured shoulder instead.

Megatron gritted his teeth against the pain and kicked Cutthroat off of himself. He flipped up to his feet and dropped his sword for a moment to wrench the baton from his shoulder—just in time to clobber Cutthroat across the face with it as the other mech came charging at him again. Cutthroat went off-balance, but still managed to sink his mace into Megatron's side.

The crowd was going wild now as Megatron countered by uppercutting him with the baton. Cutthroat staggered back, and so did Megatron, dropping down to grab his sword by the hilt. As Cutthroat came charging at him again, he swung the weapon up, aiming for the seam between the mech's chest plate and his abdominal armor.

His sword sank into the gap, pushed in further by the other gladiator's momentum, and Cutthroat made a choking sound—one that Megatron had heard countless times in his life. Fresh energon sizzled down the length of the sword, some of it making it to Megatron's hands before the heat of the weapon had a chance to evaporate it.

“The real difference between me and you, Cutthroat,” he said, so quietly that only the dying mech would hear it, “is that no one is going to cry for you.”

It was petty and a bit cliched, he knew, but saying it out loud made it easier to believe it himself. He twisted the sword one more time, driving it through Cutthroat's spark chamber, and looked away as the life left the other mech's eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't take Outburst long to do the stitches on Megatron's side and shoulder, and as soon as he was done, the gladiator pushed himself off the table, muttering about turning in for the night.

Megatron's quarters were within the ring itself, on a lower level along with all of the other gladiators'. As the most senior gladiator in the ring, his quarters were the largest, which was far from saying that they were large by any other standards. Still, he preferred them to the echoing expanses of the Air Commander's manor from last night.

Soundwave was waiting for him on the couch, Laserbeak perched on his shoulder and Ravage curled at his feet. He had his mask off, and the sight twisted Megatron's spark just slightly, though he did his best to keep it off his face.

“Have you been here all evening?” Megatron asked as he set his sword back in its resting place in the corner.

Soundwave shrugged and skritched one of Laserbeak's wing joints. The avian made a pleased noise and adjusted her wings to get a better angle. Megatron had always thought that if there was an opposite to the word “disgruntled,” it would be “gruntled,” and it would mean the noise Laserbeak made when she was pleased.

“Did you need something? I was going to go straight to bed,” Megatron told him.

“Megatron's quarters; preferable to our own. According to Ravage,” Soundwave replied.

Megatron leveled a glare at the cat, who opened a single yellow eye to return it. Soundwave claimed he had the same levels of intelligence as an average mech, but it was hard to tell when he didn't speak. He certainly seemed to have a sentient level of determination to give bother Megatron on a given day.

“Just be quiet,” the gladiator muttered, making his way to his bedroom. “And if I find any glitchmouse corpses lying around tomorrow morning, I'll tie his tail in a knot.”

Despite his physical and mental exhaustion, Megatron did not drop immediately into the bed whose rumpled covers called to him so invitingly from the corner. Instead, he sank into the chair at the writing desk beside it and flicked on a lamp. He didn't want to go to bed with nothing but Cutthroat's last moments on his mind.

The desk was piled high with various books, holofiles, datapads, and even a few scraps of pressed metal paper. Megatron sat staring at the mess for a bit before picking up the holofile he'd been writing on before he left for Vos the previous morning. There was a mess of writing on the page, much of it scratched out and various notes scrawled in margins. He picked up a light pen and scrawled, “beast crawling through the dirt” in one of the few empty spaces left, and then pushed the paper aside onto one of the many piles around him.

He reached over for another stack and lifted several items to unearth a small, green volume, far more battered and worn than the one he'd found in Starscream's bed last night. He traced a finger over the words embossed on the cover before opening it. There was an inscription on the inside, written in large, shaky letters: _“i dont unnderstand but kep on riteing sun! i luve you!”_

Megatron snorted slightly and closed the book almost reverentially before setting it aside. Yes, he had writing to do, but he wouldn't be trying to topple empires with his words tonight—just one little Seeker's spark.

He cracked his fingers before pulling a blank sheet of paper closer to him. It took him a minute longer to find a pen, and then, he began to write.

 

_Dear Starscream....._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and so it begins... Lol


	10. In Which Starscream Gets a Letter

Starscream got the all clear to return to work on Monday, Aerial having apparently satisfied herself that no one there was planning to bludgeon him with a stack of datapads at the first opportunity.

“Looks like it really was a clerical error,” she told him over the comms on Sunday night. “I've had words with the responsible party, of course.”

He could imagine, and felt a small twist of vindictive pleasure at the thought.

He was glad to be getting back to work, much as he loathed his current function. He and Thundercracker had parted under less than jovial terms and Starscream had not been looking forward to days of sitting alone at home with his thoughts while Skywarp was at school.

Over the next few days, he threw himself into his work with more gusto than he'd ever shown before. Glitterbug was pleased, to say the least, and if some of his colleagues sniggered behind their hands when he passed, he was able to pretend that he was too busy to pay them mind.

He did a case on some femmes in the lower districts of Vos who were developing some strange form of communal living, and he interviewed a couple of mechs who had been used as private transports for Quintesson officials once upon a time. It took them a while to recall the memory files on that one, but Starscream was patient for once; he had always been intrigued by any information on their former alien overlords.

No one said anything about going back to Kaon to finish his assignment there, and Starscream didn't ask.

At home, Skywarp was just as stubborn and ornery as usual, but Torrent reported that he was doing better in school, at least. Starscream supposed that his threat of homeschooling must have sunk in.

Between arguing with Skywarp about stupid things (“No, you may _not_ feed the dogs your gem collection! Where did you even _get_ those!?”), struggling to make sense of exactly what he was supposed to include in his reports for work, and Thundercracker's somewhat painful lack of presence in their bond, Starscream barely had a moment to spare to think about gladiators or any impending communication he might be having with one. So, he was momentarily confused when he came home on Friday to find an actual, physical letter sitting on the mat just inside the back door.

Well, it was Skywarp who found it really. The sparkling went bounding through the door and then pulled up abruptly at the sight of the vaguely shiny rectangle lying on their carpet.

“What's this, Star?” he asked, holding it up for his brother to see.

Starscream frowned and held out a hand for it, and Skywarp, who was apparently in a good mood today, skipped over and gave it to him.

On the front of the letter, his own name and address were written out in a small hand that was somehow both incredibly regimented and frightfully messy at the same time. Starscream didn't recognize it at all, but then he flipped the envelope over and saw the sender's name and address on the back.

The energon in his veins ran cold for a second. He'd said that Megatron could write to him, yes, but somehow he hadn't really considered what might happen if the gladiator actually made good on that promise. He could find just about anything in this letter—anything at all! What if Megatron had written to tell him in full elegance how much of a disgusting mess he was? Or what if there was nothing but shameless smut talk inside?

Oh.

What if there _was_ shameless smut talk inside? With a wave of horror, he realized that he kind of hoped there would be at least a little bit of smut talk, shameless or otherwise.

“Star?”

Skywarp pulled him back to reality; the sparkling was looking up at him expectantly.

“It's a letter,” Starscream finally answered. “From a friend.”

He carefully tucked said letter into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket and started proceeding into the house once more. Skywarp followed him, clearly dissatisfied with the conclusion of this event.

“What does it say?” he whined, grabbing onto his brother's hand and tugging.

“You're not allowed to know what other people's letters say,” Starscream told him. “Let's go change and we can take Striker to the park.”

The sparkling disappeared down the hallway with a whoop. Starscream followed after at a more leisurely pace, the letter burning in his breast pocket.

 

* * *

 

The Vossian Air Command was in a down time lately—no insurgencies to suppress, no Insecticons pressing their borders, no other city-states asking for extra security—and it was driving Thundercracker crazy. The new Air Commander, a mech by the name of Metalhawk, had ordered a full inventory of their assets when he took control of the force, and they'd been working at it ever since. Thundercracker's formation had spent the last three weeks counting and logging lug nuts. It wasn't the best environment in which to ignore the tentative proddings Starscream kept pushing at their bond.

It had been unbearably rich of Starscream to call Thundercracker's coping strategies into question when he himself had a multitude of diagnosable inabilities to cope with stress and trauma, starting with his panic attacks and moving on to full-blown memory repression and dissociation. To be fair, he was doing better than Thundercracker had expected, and he had a feeling that Skywarp had a lot to do with that, but he was starting to display a few worrying behaviors.

Thundercracker had never thought it fair that their parents had seemed to consider it his—the younger brother's—responsibility to monitor Starscream's mental state and keep him in check. It wasn't _his_ fault people had kidnapped and hurt his brother. In fact, the worst of it had happened before he was even born. It was even more unfair that Starscream, determinedly ignorant of his own issues, always seemed to think that Thundercracker was the one who needed looking after.

Well, their parents weren't around anymore to blame him if Starscream went off the rails, and he didn't have the emotional energy to spare for him anymore. Someone else could have that job if they wanted. His only concern was Skywarp.

Thundercracker sighed and ran his hands through his hair, trying to focus back on the inventory datapad in front of him. He only had just this one bit of filing left to do before he could go home for the evening, but his processor felt like mush inside his skull.

If he could have raised Skywarp himself, he would have, but he often worked late into the night and rarely had weekends off and occasionally got shipped off-planet for several years at a time. It wasn't like he had skills that could transfer over to a more family-friendly function the way Starscream did, either. And so he was left stressing about Skywarp's well-being while simultaneously trying _not_ to stress about Starscream's.

If there was any consolation in all of this, it was that Cardinal—the femme from the party— _had_ commed him after all. They'd been communicating on a regular basis all week and Thundercracker had reason to believe that things were moving in a highly favorable direction.

Fortunately, the femme had proved just as engaging, and perhaps more so, when he was sober as she had been after a few high grades. She had a quick wit that could make him laugh like he hadn't in months, and he would have arranged to meet up with her in person days ago had he the time to spare to fly all the way over to Altihex and back.

He certainly hadn't been expecting her to make the first move in that regard.

“You've got a visitor, Thundercracker,” someone called from the doorway.

“For the last time, Slipstream,” he growled without looking up. “Will you _stop_ visiting me at...”

He trailed off when he looked up and caught sight of the lavender-haired figure standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Who's this Slipstream?” she asked in that musical lilt of hers. “Should I be jealous?”

“No,” Thundercracker assured her hastily as he rose to his feet. “She's just... my cousin. What are you doing here, Cardinal?”

The femme gave him a coquettish smile and held up a basket of the sort one might carry fancy energon treats in for an outing. “You never have time to come visit me, but you get a dinner break, don't you?”

Thundercracker felt his face split into a grin.

“I can do better than that,” he told her. “Give me a minute to finish this last form and you can have my whole evening.”

“Your _whole_ evening?” she asked, her face turning hopeful and suggestive at once.

“As much of it as you want,” Thundercracker promised.

 

* * *

 

The park was probably Skywarp's favorite place to go and Starscream's favorite place to take him as it allowed the sparkling ample space to run around and do whatever he wanted while putting minimal stress on his caretaker. It would have been nice if he would play with the other sparklings in the play area (Starscream had read that it was important for sparklings to interact with those close to their own age and Skywarp's apparent lack of interest in doing so worried him at times), but Starscream didn't mind spending time in the quieter, more deserted areas of the park either—areas where he could let Striker off his leash and allow both sparkling and dog to romp to their sparks' content without worrying that they would cause undue affront to any other park goers.

Tonight, they were enjoying the area near the park's edge, where rolling greens dropped off at the rocky Vossian cliff face, providing a stunning sunset view. Starscream had initially been reluctant to let Skywarp play here in fear that the sparkling would tumble over the edge and he'd have to go catch him, but had since found that all he had to do was place himself as close to the edge as possible and Skywarp would play literally anywhere else because, surprisingly, he _wanted_ Starscream to be able to see him.

“Star! Star, look at me!” he would call every five minutes or so, and Starscream would have to look up from his book to admire his brother's somersaulting ability or how fast he could run or some such for the hundredth time in a row. It got a bit tiring after a while, but it was cute and at least served to distract him from the thought of the letter that was sitting at home, waiting for him to find the courage to open it.

Skywarp was calling him now from the top of a nearby hill, doubtless either to show him his skill in rolling down it or to have his brother watch him jump off it and “fly.”

“I see you, Warp,” Starscream called back, turning his head without actually looking away from his book. “Very impressive!”

“No! Not me, Star!” the sparkling whined, running back down the hill toward his brother now. “T.C. is here, and he's with a _femme!_ ”

Starscream's head snapped up.

“He's _what!?”_

He let Skywarp pull him up off the bench he'd been sat on and start tugging him away across the greens to the crest of the hill. Striker followed after them at an excited loll. From their new vantage point, they could see most of the park, including the pair of figures reclining on a blanket in a grove of trees just below them.

Starscream gaped as he realized that he recognized both of the figures. One was, of course, his younger brother, propped up on his elbow to lean fliratiously over a purple-haired femme who was most definitely the same one who featured briefly in Starscream's muddled memories of the previous Saturday evening.

Striker also recognized his original master lying below them and Starscream just managed to grab hold of his collar before the dog could take off to greet him. As he was pretty sure he had called the femme pretty several times and then shouted about Thundercracker wanting to frag her, he wasn't eager to run into her again, especially not while accompanied by his still-ignoring-him grump of a little brother.

“Are they gonna kiss?” Skywarp leaned in to whisper.

“Why would you think that?” Starscream demanded, thinking that Skywarp was far too young to be able to recognize such a situation.

“They look mushy,” Skywarp said, making a face. “Like Mommy and Daddy.”

“They are _not_ like Mom and Dad,” Starscream disagreed. No one was like his parents.

“I'm gonna go say hi,” Skywarp announced.

“No!” Starscream shot a hand out to grab the sparkling by the back of his shirt before he could get any farther down the hill and lost hold of Striker's collar in the process.

Starscream held his breath as he watched the faithful canid go bounding down the hill and straight for the unsuspecting couple. Thundercracker looked up just in time to receive a faceful of dog, his date jumping up with a cry of surprise.

Maybe Starscream could run away and pretend that Striker had gotten out of the house by accident? But Thundercracker would probably be more annoyed by that than by his presence right now. Probably.

It was too late anyway because his brother had just looked up and seen them standing at the top of the hill. Starscream couldn't see his face clearly from where he was, but the bond that had been closed between them all week crept open enough to let through a wave of annoyance. Starscream scowled and sent the most unrepentant feeling he could muster back. It wasn't _his_ fault the idiot had chosen to bring his fling to _their_ park.

“ _Now_ can I go say hi?” Skywarp wanted to know.

Starscream gave an exasperated sigh and released his arm. He followed at a more careful speed, watching as Skywarp slammed himself into Thundercracker's knees. The femme, whose name Starscream could not remember if he'd ever known, gave him a knowing smile that made his skin crawl for some reason.

“How's, uh... How's it going?” Thundercracker asked when he reached them.

“I'm fine,” Starscream replied, a little too quickly. “Everything's fine. Skywarp made a painting at school.”

“Yeah, he was just telling me about it,” his brother said.

“Are you gonna come see it?” Skywarp wanted to know.

“Maybe in a few days,” he assured the sparkling, trying to avoid getting muddy hand prints on his uniform. As he already had muddy paw prints up his legs, Starscream wasn't sure what the fuss was about.

“Hey, so, do you remember Cardinal?” Thundercracker asked, finally indicating his companion.

“I wish I didn't,” Starscream replied, and then quickly amended with, “I mean, not that there's anything wrong with you. Just... you know.”

Cardinal laughed. It was a warm sound.

“Don't worry about it,” she said, waving their previous encounter aside. “We've all been there at some point or another.”

“Been where?” Skywarp wanted to know.

“Never mind,” Thundercracker assured him. “Warp, this is my friend Cardinal. Can you say hi?”

This was the part where Starscream or Thundercracker as sparklings would have instantly shrunk behind one of their parents and refused to interact again until the stranger had left, but Skywarp walked straight up to the femme with his pudgy hand extended and announced, “Hi, I'm Skywarp! I'm almost six years old and I have a warp drive!”

Cardinal laughed and took his hand, bending down so that she could speak to him on his own level. While she was listening to his story about how many somersaults he could do in a row, Thundercracker nodded at his older brother to step aside with him for a moment.

Starscream hesitated before complying.

“What's up?” he asked when they'd gotten more or less out of earshot of the other two. He'd barely gotten the words out of his mouth when Thundercracker rounded on him, face far darker than Starscream had expected.

“What are you doing here?” the younger Seeker demanded in a low voice.

“Walking the dog,” Starscream replied.

“I meant why would you interrupt this?” Thundercracker clarified. “Clearly I'm not in the mood to have my brothers come visiting right now.”

Starscream sneered at him slightly. “Well, maybe if you'd trained your dog better, it wouldn't have been a problem.”

“What are you even... I can't talk to you right now,” Thundercracker said, shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you just take Skywarp and get out of here?”

The annoyance and frustration pulsing through their bond was starting to hurt, so Starscream amped up his own in retaliation, fixing his face in a scowl.

“Why would I want to hang around to begin with?”

“You've always hated that I have a love life and you don't.”

“I have not!”

“Then why do you keep hounding me about it?”

“I'm _not!_ I told you _one time_ that I'm worried about your _recent habits_.”

Thundercracker worked his jaw back and forth, looking like he wanted to find more to be angry at his brother for but was struggling. Starscream was more than happy to give him something.

“I hope she chokes on you,” he hissed before setting his face into something more presentable and turning back to the other two.

“Kay, we gotta go, Warp,” he said, stepping forward to take the sparkling's hand. “You can see T.C. later.”

“NO!” his brother instantly whined. “I wanna stay and play with Cardinal!”

“I'm afraid I'm going to be busy, bitlet,” the femme said, making it sound like it was the most tragic thing in the world that she was probably going to spend her evening getting fragged by Thundercracker instead of playing in the park with his younger brother.

Skywarp's face started to darken, and Starscream could see a tantrum coming on.

“Hey, Warp,” he said quickly. “If we leave now, we'll have time to stop at the store on the way back and you can pick out anything you want.”

All sign of tantrum instantly disappeared as Skywarp started pulling Starscream back up the hill.

“Bye, T.C.! Bye T.C.'s friend!” he called without looking back.

Starscream paused just long enough to grab hold of Striker's collar and pull him along with them before submitting to his brother's pull, slamming his and Thundercracker's bond shut spitefully as they went.

 

* * *

 

When they got home, Starscream shoved some fuel at Skywarp and told him to go play somewhere while he himself made the trek up to his bedroom, his spark set in determination. He was jealous of Thundercracker's love life, was he? Well, he would show his brother something to be jealous of. Hopefully. Provided this letter's contents met his expectations and it wasn't just Megatron telling him that he had some serious issues.

He'd left his suit jacket on the back of his desk chair, and he almost pulled the chair over in his haste to get the letter out of it. Once it was in his hand again, he hesitated, running a finger over Megatron's handwriting on the envelope. Was this a good idea?

He called to mind the slightly hazy image of the gladiator's scarred face inches from his own, his red eyes hooded and searching... and he had pulled back. He also vaguely remembered Megatron setting him down in his parents' bed and... not trying to touch him. At all. Not even to caress his hair or “loosen his clothes.” There was a good chance that he could trust a mech like that.

Finally, he slid a shaking finger under the envelope flap and ripped. As he turned the envelope upside down to shake the letter out, a smaller, thicker slip of paper fell into his hand. He examined it and discovered that it was a ticket to the opera, a showing of _Song of Solus_ scheduled for two weeks out at the Iacon opera house. Box seats.

His mouth dropped open. Not only did he get the romantic implication of the choice in show, but... How in Cybertron had Megatron managed to get _box seats_ in the _Iacon opera house???_ Even if it was in one of the secondary performance halls. One thing was for certain; Megatron had _not_ written to mock him.

Starscream set the ticket down carefully on his desk and tugged the actual letter from the envelope. It took him a moment to get his processor to calm down enough to register the words on the page in front of him.

“Dear Starscream,” it began, and he felt a smile creep across his face.

 

_Dear Starscream,_

_I hope that this letter finds you in better health than you were on our previous meetings; I have found my mind occupied with little besides your radiant smile these past few days and I fear the world would be darker by degrees without it._

_The memory of our first meeting is likely one tinged with discomfort for you, but I intend to cherish it always. It struck me then that here was a jewel that not even the degradation of Kaon could tarnish, for hard as our city had striven to beat you down, you appeared before me as though crowned in sapphires, the fire in your eyes declaring defiance to the world. That same fire has burned in my spark ever since._

_You are by far one of the most scintillating mechs I have met in any sense of the word. Your quick wit and disregard for those regulations of society which hold so many of your caste captive have served to ignite my admiration, while the self-sacrifice you have displayed in choosing to care for your orphaned brother has inspired my affections. Furthermore, if I might be so bold as to voice my opinion on the matter, there is an exquisite elegance to your form which I find so alluring as to be nigh unto criminal. How any mech could continue to draw air through his vents with such a paragon of perfection before him remains an enigma to me. As for myself, I feel that every cycle of air I take is tinged with greater meaning simply from knowing that you are also in this world._

_Perhaps you will find me excessively forward, but I wish to leave you in no doubt of my intentions from the beginning of this interaction. After all, a mech who risks nothing is a mech who gains nothing._

_If my feelings are reciprocated in even the least degree, then I would be honored to have your company at the opera on the enclosed date. I have secured tickets in a private box with respect to your social status. I fear that every minute will seem more bleak than the last until I receive reply from you._

_Until then, I remain your most ardent admirer,_

 

_Megatron of Kaon_

 

Starscream was quite certain that every bit of energon in his body must have rushed into his face. He stared at the signature at the bottom for a moment, and then read through it again to make sure he hadn't hallucinated the whole thing. It was just as embarrassingly glorious on the second read through. No mockery, no sexy bits (unless you counted the part where Megatron had called him criminally shapely), only honest and ardent admiration.

Megatron liked him.

Megatron _liked_ him. Like, _a lot,_ if this letter was to be believed.

Starscream smiled and spun his desk chair round in a circle as he read the letter a third time. This sounded like it was going to be more than just a fling. They would see who was jealous of whom in a few months.

 

* * *

 

At the moment—sated, sticky, and wrapped around a beautiful femme—Thundercracker wouldn't have thought to be jealous of anyone. That was, until she nuzzled up into his jaw and murmured, “So what's up with your brother?”

“Is that what you were thinking about while we were 'facing?” Thundercracker demanded, pulling back so that he could see her better.

“No!” she protested with a bit of a giggle. “I was just listening to your sparkbeat and thought about bonds. I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.”

“A pain in the aft,” Thundercracker grunted, rolling over onto his back.

Cardinal followed, climbing half on top of him so that her breasts were pressed rather fetchingly against his bare chest.

“You two sure don't look much alike compared to most Seeker siblings,” she murmured, dragging a fingertip along one of his collarbones.

Thundercracker snorted.

“There used to be rumors that our mom had an affair and he was the product.”

“Really? Do you think it's true?” Cardinal sounded more intrigued than Thundercracker would have expected, but then, femmes did tend to enjoy gossip.

“No,” he sighed. “I mean, I did when I first heard it—it would explain a lot, to be honest—but then I got old enough to see just how much like our dad he actually is...”

Cardinal hummed thoughtfully and Thundercracker stared at the dark ceiling of his barracks room, tracing a finger up and down her spine as he thought about that. He'd never known how much his father and brother were alike until he'd entered the Air Command and seen his father at work firsthand. The first time he'd seen that cold, calculated look in his father's eyes as he pored over strategy charts with his officers, it was like millions of years suddenly left him and it was Starscream standing there instead.

After that, he'd seen it more and more: in the way they both cocked their heads to the side when they smiled, their tone of voice when they were excited, the awkward way they tried to talk to you if they thought you were upset, and that stupidly soft expression on their faces when they were having their more mild-mandered interactions with Skywarp. They used to look at Thundercracker like that, too...

The Seeker turned his attention back down to Cardinal again and forced a smile.

“He's definitely my brother,” he assured her.

“Hm. Pity he got everything,” she sighed, resting her cheek against him.

“Tell me about it,” the Seeker grumbled. He didn't so much resent Starscream inheriting all of their parents' worldly goods as he did the unparalleled amount of attention his brother seemed capable of commanding simply by existing. Even now, when he'd been having a delicious evening with a ravishing femme, Starscream was somehow managing to get involved.

“You two get along pretty well?” Cardinal wanted to know, and a suspicion crept into the back of Thundercracker's mind.

“Neither of us would ever be interested in a threesome, if that's what you're after,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke in case he was wrong.

Fortunately, she burst out laughing.

“A threesome? With... What on Cybertron made you think that?”

“You wouldn't have been the first to ask,” he grumbled.

“Oh, dear Primus!” she giggled. “Wouldn't that be incest?”

“Yes! Thank you! That's what I keep trying to tell people!”

They both laughed now, and Thundercracker wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze.

“Anyway, there's a reason he's still sealed—no one wants an aft quite _that_ tight in bed with them.” It was a vastly unfair thing to say about his brother and he knew it, but right now he mostly just wanted to hear Cardinal laugh some more.

She did laugh, and then crawled up him a bit to nibble at his jawline. This left her straddling his middle, and Thundercracker could feel the lingering moisture of her valve against his stomach. He moved his hands to rest on her hips, running them around the smooth curves and down to squeeze the supple flesh of her rear. She left off his jaw and moved to kiss his mouth instead, running her own hands through his hair and then down to his throat. She didn't squeeze, simply rested her thumbs on the front of it while her other fingers traced the curve of his jaw and the lines of veins and muscles.

And then Thundercracker felt something else against his stomach, something hard and very warm pressing and growing against his navel.

“Would you mind if I find out how tight _your_ aft is?” Cardinal murmured against his cheek, and Thundercracker felt his spark speed up so suddenly it left him dizzy for a second.

Really, he preferred it in his valve, but it was so rare for a femme to offer to spike him that he wasn't going to say no regardless of where she wanted to put it.

“You,” he said, sliding a hand between them to help her along, “are going to have to come over more often.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alriiiight, T.C.! Helping us earn a bit of that E rating, finally! Lol
> 
> And, uh... Yes, these humanformers are hermaphrodites just like all our lovely headcanon regular transformers. Which I plan to have a bit of fun with in Midnight Run, fyi. Lol


	11. In Which We Explore the Highs and Lows of Society

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I got you a nice long one this time.

“No, not... _Are you_ trying _to get your head chopped off!?_ ” Megatron’s bellow echoed across the arena, drawing the attention of all the others at morning training to himself and the shiny new gladiator he was trying to train.

“ I thought it looked good,” the young mech protested.

“ _Looking_ good and _being_ good are two very different things in the ring! When will you get that through your head!?” the gladiator roared.

“But… _you_ always look good in the ring…” his trainee mumbled, twirling his sword awkwardly.

Megatron threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. He could only do so much. At least this one wanted to try. Half the kids who showed up in his ring claiming that they wanted to be trained really just wanted a suicide more glorious than overdose or cutting their own lines. You could always tell those ones from the start from the look in their eyes and the fact that they called themselves things like “Darkdawn” and “Filth.”

“ All of the moves I use in the ring are ones that I have learned over several million years to prioritize survival over flare or style,” Megatron explained carefully. “If it looks cool to you, then do what I’m telling you and you’ll look cool, too.”

The young mech frowned, his lips pursed slightly as he tried to process this information, and Megatron was just on the verge of cuffing him round the head with the hilt of his own sword when an incoming comm message pinged him. It was from Soundwave.

_ ::Angry gladiators here again:: _

Megatron rolled his eyes. This had been a theme for the past week, ever since his match with Cutthroat. Apparently, the mech’s original ring manager had not expected to lose one of his fighters in an upper level ring, and had responded to the affront by sending others of his fighters to harass them almost every day since.

“ Keep running that drill I showed you,” Megatron told his trainee. “I’ve gotta go take care of something else. Tripwire!”

The gladiator in question looked up from the far side of the practice ring where he’d been putting Clutch in a headlock.

“ They’re back again,” Megatron told him, and Tripwire released his training partner with a heavy sigh.

“ You know,” he said, falling into step beside the taller gladiator as they made their way out of the ring, “no one except their manager would care if we just offed ‘em.”

“ No,” Megatron growled. “Do that and we stoop to their level.”

“ You always gotta cramp on my fun,” Tripwire sighed.

The two intruders in question were raising a ruckus outside the stadium’s main entrance today. They were different from the ones who’d been there the rest of the week, and Megatron recognized them from the many times he’d seen them ripping other gladiators apart in the rings. Both hulking masses and they looked like they’d come from the same protoform batch. One was a dull green that was probably his original color while the other was a far more gaudy purple. They were engaged in destroying a couple of decorative trees bordering the stadium steps at the moment, Soundwave watching them pensively.

Megatron couldn’t help but feel a sense of righteous indignation at that; getting trees to survive in the middle of Kaon wasn’t an easy feat.

“ Can I help you?” he asked as he and Tripwire made their way down the front steps.

The mechs stopped uprooting the tree and turned their scowling underbites his way.

“ So, the mighty Megatronus has finally come out, has he?” the purple one grunted, taking a minute to lean aside and spit a gob of something dark on the steps.

“ Wait time; negligible,” Soundwave commented.

“ Shut up, you faceless freak,” the green one snapped at him.

Behind Megatron, Tripwire made a hissing noise and tensed slightly. The larger gladiator made a surreptitious calming motion at him.

“ I repeat: can I help you?” he demanded of the two intruders.

“ Yeah, you can repay us the money you lost our ring,” the purple one replied.

“ No,” Megatron said automatically. “Anything else?”

“ Maybe you don’t quite understand us—”

“ What’s your name, kid?” Megatron interrupted him.

The mech blinked, seeming unsure where to go now that his usual script had been interrupted.

“ Thunderhead,” he said after a moment,

“ And you?” Megatron nodded to the other mech.

“ Nutbuster,” came the reply.

There was a snorting sound from somewhere behind Megatron’s shoulder, and Megatron himself barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. The names some of these youngsters gave themselves…

“ Alright, Thunderhead and… Nutbuster, what we have here is—”

“ You making fun of my name?”

“ ...You named yourself Nutbuster.”

“ What’s your point?”

“ Nothing. Look, I just have one question for the two of you: did you know Cutthroat well?”

The two mechs looked to each other and shrugged.

“ Not really,” Thunderhead confessed. “Sparred with him a few times. Doesn’t really matter; this is about the money.”

“ Right,” Megatron agreed. “But I have to ask, among those times you sparred with him, did you ever win?”

“ Oh, I get what this is,” Nutbuster scoffed, showing more intuition than Megatron would have expected of him. “You’re gonna be all, ‘How do you think you can beat me when you couldn’t beat him,’ right?”

“ Seems you know all my secrets,” Megatron shrugged. “So, can you tell me how this conversation is going to end?”

“ Not the way you think it’s going to,” Thunderhead declared, raising a mechanized arm that shifted into a blaster.

Megatron heaved a sigh. “I don’t appreciate the desperate threats,” he said, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.

There was a sound of wrenching metal, someone screamed, and when Megatron lowered his hand it was to the sight of Soundwave advancing down the steps toward Thunderhead, one of his feelers wrapped tight around the mech’s blaster and  _ twisting _ . Nutbuster made a move to assist his comrade only to find Tripwire landing on his shoulders.

It took him all of two seconds to get a dagger into the seams of Nutbuster’s armor and slice the mobility lines to his arms. The larger mech howled with pain and frustration as Tripwire hopped off him and delivered a kick to his midsection that sent him skidding back across the pavement. Without his arms to balance himself, he toppled over backward after a few feet.

Soundwave meanwhile was busy making Thunderhead punch himself in the face with his own fist.

“ That’s enough!” Megatron barked, and Tripwire halted halfway through kicking his Nutbuster while he was down. Soundwave gave his opponent one more punch before finally releasing him.

“ I hope that we have all learned something today,” Megatron commented to the groaning mechs at the foot of the stairs. “Don’t challenge the champion if you aren’t ready to take the runners up.”

And then he turned and made his way back up the stairs, choosing to ignore the sound of a foot colliding with another mech’s side before Tripwire came scurrying up after him, Soundwave following at a more leisurely pace.

“ Think they’ll be back?” Tripwire asked as they passed back into the darkness of the stadium.

“ Most likely result; return with reinforcements,” Soundwave commented.

“ We’ll see if Switchback and I can’t come up with a more diplomatic solution to things,” Megatron answered.

Tripwire hummed thoughtfully. “Speaking o’ diplomacy: you heard back from your Seeker boyfriend yet, Megs?”

Megatron stiffened and came to a halt. He turned to regard the smaller mech, who waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and then shot a glance back at Soundwave.

“ I’ll thank you not to broadcast my personal life,” he told the faceless mech.

Soundwave shrugged and kept walking.

“ Give him a break; it’s not like he has much else to talk about,” Tripwire scolded.

“ Why is he talking to you to begin with?” Megatron wanted to know.

The other gladiator gave him what he could only interpret as a pitying look before trotting off to catch up with the mech in question. Megatron frowned at their retreating backs for a moment, and then decided that he had better things to worry about than whom Soundwave was talking to about what.

Like, when  _ would _ he hear back from Starscream? Megatron had been doing his best to hide it, but there had been little else on his mind for the past few days. Hopefully, the Seeker was just having the same amount of trouble crafting a suitable reply as he had writing his own letter in the first place. It had taken him three days to write something that he felt comfortable putting his signature on, another two days to call in the favors necessary to get the tickets, and two more after that to get up the nerve and put the whole thing in the mail.

It had been three days since then, and his guts twisted uncomfortably ever time he thought of it. The mailbox on the outside of his quarters, which usually only ever held junky advertisements and the occasional challenge letter from other gladiators had become a protracted, looming presence in the back of his mind. Either one of these days, he was going to open it to find a letter from the most beautiful mech on Cybertron inside, or the day of the opera would come and go and he would be just another fool who had fallen for the charms of the high caste.

 

* * *

 

Originally, Vos had a royal family, but the Quintessons had seen to that. The throne had remained empty ever since as no one had thought it right to create a new royal family out of nowhere, but the concept of an aristocracy had persisted in Vossian culture far longer than anywhere else on the planet. Which was why their senate remained a primarily hereditary organization.

There were exceptions, of course—such as Starscream—but one could generally assume that if one's parent was a senator, then one would receive a function in the government and eventually work one's way up to replacing said parent when he or she decided it was time to retire. Steelrim was one of many working his way toward just such a felicitous event, and it wasn't turning out to be the smooth ride to the top that he had hoped for.

“Yes, General Rampant, I understand why you want more armor reinforcement packs, but without an active threat to the Air Command, we can't really justify the expense,” he sighed down the comm line, in the middle of dealing with the tenth complaint they'd gotten just that day about the budget cuts to the Air Command.

“Young mech,” the general replied, “I would like to see you spend six months on a patrol detail along the Darrian titanium route and then tell me that we have no active threats.”

“I know about the pirates, yes, but that's why we gave you some more money for transport crafts,” Steelrim explained as patiently as possible. “Get some crafts with better shielding, and then your soldiers won't need to have stronger armor.”

“You know nothing about deep space warfare, do you? This is what happens when they put younglings in charge of important decisions...”

Steelrim tuned out the general's rant while he shuffled through some holofiles on his desk, looking for the report on district spending that his boss had asked him to compile into some kind of easily comprehensive chart by the end of the day. Before he could find it, there was a knock on his open door, and he looked up to see Senator Liftright peering around the frame at him.

“We'll have to discuss this another time, sir. I'm afraid I have a visitor,” he told the general, disconnecting the call before the old soldier could get out more than a few spluttering noises of protest.

Senator Liftright glided into his office, looking like the physical incarnation of a healthy summer breeze as usual. Whoever had said that having a sparkling aged a femme 10 million years had never met Liftright.

“Working hard as ever, I see,” she remarked.

“I try to earn my keep. How can I help you, Senator?” Steelrim asked, eager to get her out of his office as soon as possible. He had nothing against the senator personally, but she knew too much compromising information about his habits outside of work for him to ever shake the impression that she was going to blackmail him every time he saw her.

“You were in the same generational batch as the Air Commander's eldest, correct?” she asked, taking a seat on the edge of his desk.

Well, this wasn't at all where Steelrim had expected the conversation to go, but he was always up for a conversation about Starscream.

“Born just a few months before him, as a matter of fact,” he informed her.

“And what's your opinion of him?”

Now, wasn't that a loaded question if ever he'd heard one! What did he think of Starscream? How was he supposed to answer that without giving away altogether too much?

“Well... He's.... intelligent and opinionated,” he started. “He has at least 100 scientific discoveries to his name so far from his expeditions, and he tells some great stories about other planets.”

“Steelrim, darling,” she laughed airily. “If I'd wanted his CV I could have pulled it up at the Hall of Records. I meant  _ personally _ .”

“Personal... I'm not sure I get your drift, Senator,” Steelrim frowned. He was pretty sure that she wasn't aware of that particular indemnifying fact about his personal life.

“There are rumors that the two of you were...  _ intimate _ at some point in the past,” she said.

Well, apparently he stood corrected, but at least they were just rumors. Rumors he could handle. Rumors would make Starscream pout at him the next time they ran into each other, but he was going to do that anyway after their last encounter.

“No, we were never in  _ that _ kind of a relationship,” he assured her—truthfully, to his great regret. “We were close friends when we were younglings, but then there was the... the incident when we were in our early 50s and... Well, he wasn't quite the same after that.”

“Incident?”

Steelrim blinked. He forgot at times that not everyone in Vos kept as rigorous of tabs on Starscream's life as he did, but he'd have thought that the Air Commander tearing apart half the planet in search of his missing son would be something that anyone would remember.

“You know? The time when those insurgents tried to hold him for ransom?” he prompted. “I mean, that's happened a couple of times, but he was missing for a whole month that first time.”

“Oh, yes. I remember now,” Liftright nodded. “Daybreak was such a mess the whole time... and a couple years after, for that matter. It was rather satisfying, I must say.”

“I would think that as a mother yourself now, you would have more sympathy,” Steelrim frowned.

“Oh, as a mother, yes,” she agreed. “As a senator, and as someone who's had to deal with the little glitch myself, no.”

Steelrim sniffed disapprovingly. “Satisfying” was in no way the word he would choose to describe his memories of that month, nor the months following it when his best friend had suddenly become a bundle of nervous terror that could be set off at a moment's notice. He had made the calculated choice to back off until things went back to normal, but... they never really had.

“Anyway,” Liftright continued, “you're closer to him than most—how would you say his mental state has been since the accident?”

“Why?” Steelrim asked suspiciously.

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged. “Downdraft saw him at the party the other weekend, and when we were talking he said that he seemed so normal, almost like nothing was wrong at all. It sounds just like that family to not even care about their parents' death, don't you think?”

The young mech scoffed in disgust. How could anyone think his betrothed so sparkless? “I assure you, Starscream is definitely upset about his parents' death. I don't know what Downdraft witnessed, but I haven't seen him being himself at all: far more erratic and irrational than usual, quitting his job, avoiding social interactions... That party was the first time I've seen him out since he came back planetside.”

“Hm. I guess you're right. Silly me; I should've known Downdraft's opinions were rubbish,” Liftright said with a little wink, and Steelrim smiled to himself, content that he had managed to defend Starscream's honor even this little bit.

“You know,” the femme continued, giving him a thoughtful look, “I'm surprised you haven't snatched him up yet. He is your type, isn't he? You always go for the small ones.”

“Yes, well,” Steelrim coughed, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “I won't deny I find him attractive, but...”

“He'd make a good match for you socially, too, wouldn't he?”

The young mech's eyebrows drew together in confusion. He'd had more interactions with Liftright than many of the other senators due to their dealings outside of government work in the past, but she'd never shown so much interest in his personal life before. His intuition was tingling, but he couldn't put his finger on anything outright suspicious.

“I...suppose he would,” he finally conceded. “But my parents would never want anyone related to Daybreak under our roof, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“Like a bold young mech such as yourself needs his parents approval,” the femme laughed, pushing herself up off the desk. “Will we see you this weekend? Or sooner perhaps?”

“I don't know; I've got a lot of work...” Steelrim mumbled, looking back down at his paperwork to hide the blush creeping into his face.

Liftright watched him a moment longer before giving another of those airy little laughs and reaching out to cup his chin in one long-fingered hand.

“Steelrim, my pet,” she purred, tipping his face up toward hers once more. “If you want something, then take it. That's how this world works; you know that.”

The mech said nothing, and she released him with another wink.

“I'll see you around,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

Once she had gone, Steelrim heaved a sigh and shook himself. He tried to get to work, but their conversation had left his mind consumed by thoughts of Starscream. Their last encounter had been one of their worst to date, and he needed to find some way to make it right because he still wanted Starscream more than he'd wanted anything else in his entire life. The thought of being with Starscream just felt  _ right. _ They'd been drawn to each other as sparklings, before they even knew what physical attraction was, and Steelrim couldn't help but think there had to be something in that.

Not that physical attraction wasn't a part of it now. How many times had he fantasized about the other Seeker without ever getting sick of it? He'd held Starscream in his arms and even kissed him on a couple of occasions in the past—always times when his childhood friend was too overcharged to care who saw them together—but never more than that. What he wouldn't give to have the smaller mech beneath him, slender legs around his waist, perfect almond eyes half-closed in ecstasy...

Steelrim sighed in frustration and tossed the holofile down on his desk. As much as he hated to admit it, he probably would be seeking out Liftright's business sooner than later.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday nights were cyber poker nights at Outburst's place. Megatron rarely attended, but tonight he'd thought that the slightly overcharged babble of other mechs might be exactly the right level of background noise he needed to focus on his work—a speech for a rally they were planning to hold several districts over. There were people there who actually had money, and Megatron had hopes that they might get a few donations before the enforcers shut them down if he could find some way to sound appealing to the sensibilities of someone with deep pockets.

He would have made more progress if Knock Out hadn't decided that his decision not to include himself in the game meant that he was open to being talked at the whole evening instead.

“ So, this guy is like, 'Hey, kid, where do you think you're sticking that needle?' And I'm like, 'You gotta have a needle if you want an anticorrosive. You think we have the credits for  _ oral _ anticorrosives around here?'” the sparkling was saying now, his legs kicking beneath his chair as he gesticulated wildly along with his story. “Do you know how much more oral anticorrosives cost, Megatron? They're, like, five bajillion more credits!”

“ Criminal,” Megatron remarked without looking up from his datapad.

“ Uh, yeah. It is,” Knock Out retorted, as if offended by the obviousness of this statement. “We have to buy 'em from the gangs if we want 'em because the other people... Who are they? You know, the ones who are in charge of things? They don't like us?”

“ ...the government...?”

“ Ugh! The government! Those guys are a bunch of losers!”

“ Yup.”

“So, anyway, then the guy is like, 'You're not a doctor. You're like, six years old!' And I'm like, 'Six? Do I look _six?'_ _Do I?_ ”

“ Yeah, you kind of do.”

“ What?! I do not!”

“ Look at you; you're tiny.”

“No, _you're_ huge!”

Megatron finally put down the datapad he'd been working on and turned to face the first-class pout that Knock Out was sending his way.

“ You're right; you don't look six,” he conceded, and the sparkling relaxed with a smug smile. “You look about seven.”

“ _ Eight! _ ”  Knock Out whined.

“ You are not. You were a newspark, like, yesterday,” Megatron protested, matching the sparkling’s tone.

“ Breakdown, tell him I'm eight!” Knock Out called to the group of mechs huddled around the card table behind them.

The one in question—a broad-shouldered young mech with cobalt blue hair—looked up from the game and gave a bark of good-natured laughter.

“ He's just teasing you, Knocks. Come have some rust sticks,” Breakdown told him, waving him over.

“ Don't choke on 'em,” Megatron said absently as the sparkling slid off the chair he'd been sitting on and headed toward the table with a disgruntled huff.

The gladiator picked up his datapad again and went back to the speech he'd been working on.

He'd made all of two lines of progress before Outburst sank with a heavy sigh onto the chair that Knock Out had vacated, a can of cheap high grade held loosely in one hand.

“ How's your shoulder?” the doctor asked without preamble.

“ Fine,” Megatron grunted.

“ Soundwave said you were complaining about it yesterday.”

Megatron scowled and looked over to the card table where said mech was sat watching the game over Tripwire’s shoulder; none of their friends had figured out that Soundwave was a telepath so far as Megatron knew, but they had all discovered quite quickly that it was best for everyone involved not to deal him into a game of cards.

“ It stings when I shower; that's all,” Megatron assured him.

Outburst grunted this time and took a swig of high grade. “There are a lot of people around here who would be disappointed if you got yourself deactivated in the ring because you couldn't take care of one little injury.”

“True.  You know, that sparkling of yours is ridiculously wound up,” Megatron said, forcing the conversation away from reluctant subjects.

“ Is he?” Outburst wondered, setting his can on the table between them. “Seems normal to me.”

“ Normal is subjective,” Megatron countered.

“ Well, he sure likes it when Breakdown comes by,” the doctor shrugged. “He's about as loosely wound as they come; maybe spending some time with him will chill the kid out a bit.”

Megatron hummed thoughtfully, watching the blue-haired mech toss pieces of rust sticks at Knock Out for the sparkling to catch in his mouth. It would have been ideal for Knock Out if Breakdown could have just taken him in; the construction 'bot had far more of a parental disposition than Outburst ever would, but he lived in dorms and was constantly moving from one construction site to the next, typically surrounded by the kinds of mechs who should not be allowed near sparklings for one reason or another. At least Outburst could keep him physically safe.

“ You remember the Vossian cultural investigator we had in here the other day?” Megatron said after a while.

“ The one you ended up in the tabloids with? What about him?” Outburst wanted to know.

“ That's not...” Megatron huffed and decided not to waste his breath arguing about it. “I was just thinking how he was so incensed that we let Knock Out in the rings and you use him as an assistant and all. You don't think he might have had a point, do you?”

Outburst gave a derisive snort.

“ How would we keep him away from it?” he wanted to know. “Who around here is trustworthy enough to leave him with?”

“ We could figure something out, I'm sure.”

“ Like you figured things out for Soundwave?”

Outburst actually recoiled slightly from the glare that the gladiator sent his way.

“ Sorry,” he muttered. “That was... You did your best.”

“ Not really,” Megatron sighed, glancing over at Soundwave to make sure that he was still engaged in figuring out who was going to win the card game. “Not until... you know.”

“ Well, fortunately, he seems to have some highly selective memory surrounding you,” Outburst chuckled. “But I dunno. I've been thinking about giving the kid a broader education. He's smart; he reads and writes and Primus knows he does well with math and science, but... He could advance pretty well later in life if he gets some literature and history; a bit of culture, you know.”

A niggling suspicion crept into Megatron's processor. “Are you asking me to tutor him?”

“Primus, no!” the doctor laughed. “You would just fill his head with idealistic philosophers and those sappy romances from the golden age. Anyway, you're too busy for anything else in your life right now. I mean, you can't even find the time for a relationship... or are you going to tell me you're still alone because you don't have enough options?”

“I'm alone because I don't have the  _ right _ options,” Megatron scoffed. “Yet.”

“Careful there, or you'll end up like me; a rusty old loner spending his 20s raising someone else's sparkling,” the doctor grunted, picking up his high grade to take another swig. “Ugh, in  _ Kaon _ no less,” he added, giving his drink a look of distaste. “I'll admit it's more interesting down here, but I miss the drinks up top. You should bring some back next time you get invited somewhere nice.”

“Maybe I will; you deserve it,” Megatron conceded, picking up his datapad and pushing his chair back.

“Turning in early?” Outburst guessed.

“More or less,” the gladiator shrugged, heading for the door.

On most evenings, Megatron was perfectly content to sit with the old doctor and talk about the state of things now, the way things used to be, or whatever else happened to pass their fancy of an evening. Outburst was one of the few truly intelligent mechs around, and their frequent disparities in taste made for some of the more interesting conversations the gladiator got these days. Tonight, though, he really was determined to finish this speech.

It was a short walk back to the stadium, but cold enough that Megatron was shivering a little when he got there. They were closer now to the dirty gray snows of Kaon's winters than the putrid heat of its summers, and he had not thought to dress for the briskness of the evening when he and Soundwave had stepped out into the sunset several hours earlier. He wondered momentarily what the weather was like in Vos at this time of year, and what Starscream might look like in one of his own sweaters, before shaking the thought from his mind.

It was unimportant, after all. The Seeker had yet to write him back, and probably never would. He probably thought Megatron was just a disgusting low-caster. He probably...

Megatron stopped his self-deprecating thought process in its tracks as he reached the door to his quarters. The little light indicating he had a message in his mailbox was on.

This wasn't the first time he had come home to this sight only to find himself pulling another piece of junk mail out of the box, so he did his best not to get his hopes up as he reached into the box and pulled out its contents.

There were a couple of advertisements for deals at local bars, an announcement about a new brothel opening up, and... The gladiator's spark leapt into his throat; mixed in with all the other pointless junk was a small, sky blue envelope with elegant handwriting curling across it in dark red ink. There was no return address, but there didn't need to be.

Megatron dropped the other things on the floor and ripped into the envelope without a second thought. The letter inside wasn't long, but it didn't need to be.

 

_ Dear Megatron, _

_ Thank you for your letter. Even among the high caste, there are few who share your level of eloquence or class, and both your affections and admiration are welcome. _

_ While I lack your skill in crafting flattery, I will say that I have thought of you as well, and that I am eager for a chance to converse with such a well-read and experienced mech when I am not inebriated or otherwise mentally compromised. _

_ I accept your invitation and look forward to seeing you in person once more. While I enjoy the idea of courtship through letters and hope to continue it, a more efficient means of communication may be in order for this engagement. My comm link frequency is below. _

_ Until then, stay well. _

 

_ Yours truly, _

_ Starscream of Vos _

A smile creased Megatron's scarred and weathered face as he brushed a finger across the signature at the bottom of the letter. It looked as though soon he might have someone much more fun than Outburst to talk with late into the night.

Someone who could tell him how people with deep pockets thought, he reflected further, bringing himself back to the present. His date with Starscream wasn't until next week. For now, he had a speech to finish.

 

* * *

 

It was late when Steelrim finally arrived in Praxus; all respectable persons had retired to their homes hours ago. All except those respectable members of society like himself who sometimes needed some less than respectable company.

He knew that Liftright unofficially owned and made operations possible for countless establishments of leisure in a variety of city-states, but the only one he'd ever visited was the one in Praxus, which she managed personally and tailored toward her fellow high-casters' tastes. A casual visitor would think it was just an upscale night club, provided they never went near any of the back rooms.

The hulking, dark-suited mechs at the doors recognized Steelrim and waved him through without a second glance.

Liftright herself was rarely there since her daughter's birth, but her assistant manager, an elderly femme who had been quite a famous actress back in the golden age, was handling things well enough without her.

“Just missed your father,” she informed him with a curt nod. “Though I suppose that's probably why you're so late tonight.”

“Just two hours tonight, Pyrite,” he said quickly before she could regale him with any further details about his father's visit.

“Suit yourself,” the femme shrugged. “Your usual's not available, but I've got another one I think you'll enjoy. Or you could wait another hour.”

Steelrim grimaced. He didn't like switching around, but he also didn't feel like waiting any longer. So, he followed her back through the dark club, past those forlorn phantoms who had not yet found their ways home for the night, and past the grandiose stage, where a purple-haired femme with a deep, melodic voice was crooning something into the microphone like it was some repository of secret desires. Normally, he liked to take his time and enjoy a bit of entertainment when he came here, but he was in a hurry tonight.

Pyrite led the young politician all the way to the last of the back rooms and knocked twice before opening the door for him.

The room beyond was decorated in dark blue with splashes of gold painted up the decorative columns, fringed along the edges of the drapes, and embroidered into the plush spread of the massive bed that lay centerpiece to the whole opulent confection. On the edge of the bed, sat a young mech with dark hair and a slender frame. He stood when Steelrim entered, but made no more greeting than a nod of his head.

“Will he do?” Pyrite asked, hovering in the doorway.

Steelrim looked the mech up and down, taking in the slightness of his build, the angles of his jaw, the almond shape of his eyes... They were the slightly fractal blue of a Two-wheeler instead of a Seeker's crimson, but...

“Oh, yes. He'll do,” Steelrim assured his hostess.

“Excellent,” she beamed. “You know the rules. I'll be back in two hours, unless you decide you want more time.”

And then she had gone, locking the door behind her.

The young mech continued to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room while Steelrim took off his coat and started loosening his tie.

“You're new here, aren't you?” he guessed, giving his companion an encouraging smile.

“Yes, sir,” came the mumbled reply.

“Do you have a designation?”

“Re... I mean... It's C37, sir.”

The poor mech looked like he was on the verge of tears. Steelrim decided to take pity on him and stepped across the room, gently cupping the smaller mech's cheek in one hand and brushing his hair back with the other.

“Don't you worry about a thing; I'm not going to hurt you,” he assured him. “We'll take it nice and slow, and you'll be just fine.”

C37 took in a deep breath and turned his gaze up to meet Steelrim's with a slightly forced smile.

“That's the spirit,” the politician reassured him. “Now, where should we start, my little star?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem*  
> I'm gonna go take a shower now....


	12. In Which Starscream has a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a quick note: I originally had this tagged as straight-up Aligned continuity AU, but... I've incorporated so many things into the sequel (yes, there is already a 100,000 word draft of a sequel to this story it's called Midnight Run ffff) that are not Aligned (mostly characters) and thrown out so much of the somewhat conflicting Aligned cannon that I'm officially tagging it as an Aligned/IDW crossover AU. 
> 
> Basically, just enjoy the story as it's presented and don't worry about it too much. :B

**** The last time Starscream had been on a first date with someone he was actually interested in, he was still a wet-behind-the-ears scientist studying for his first round of exams at the Altihex Academy (Skyfire didn't count as they'd never really had a first date or official start to their relationship in general). He couldn't remember much of it—not even the mech's name—and so found himself scrambling blind as he tried to prepare for his date with Megatron.

Since they were going to the opera, the question of how formally to dress at least was answered, but... What was Megatron going to expect  _ after _ the opera?

Much as Starscream was loathe to admit it, Slipstream had been right when she had accused him of still having his seal intact. Thundercracker's asinine behavior of late had led him to more or less deciding to let Megatron break it for him, but the closer he got to the day, the more he started to doubt his decisions. After all, sex on the first date was a little... crass.

Wasn't it?

Just in case, he had dug out his lasic razor a few days ago—the one Slipstream had talked him into buying ages ago when she'd still thought her cousin might share her fondness for sleeping around—and gone to work removing every single stray hair on his body. If he did get caught with his trousers down on Friday night, then he would at least make the view as impressive as possible. He spent the next couple days figuring out how to walk so that his clothes didn't brush his suddenly very exposed nether regions too much.

And looking up articles about how to have a successful first date, most of which told him that sex should not be involved. However, as most of them also said that no mech would be attracted to you if you were a slobbering, overcharged mess in front of him within your first couple of interactions, he had to take everything with a grain of salt when applying it to Megatron.

The other issue was what to do with Skywarp for the evening. Due to the time difference between Vos and Iacon, Starscream wouldn't get home until early the next morning, even if he left by groundbridge as soon as the show was done. It felt like he'd called every single sitting service in the city-state, including the one that Slipstream had supposedly gotten on retainer for him, and none of them were available. This left only his aunt, and he knew she would be both available and willing, but then Slipstream would know that he'd gone out.  _ Overnight. _ Was it really worth that?

But then he caught sight of Megatron's letter, which had been sitting in a spot of honor on his desk for the past two weeks and decided that yes, it was.

As he had predicted, his aunt was overjoyed at the opportunity to have her youngest nephew for the night. Said nephew himself was another matter.

“But I don't  _ wanna _ stay with Aunt Dawn!” Skywarp whined when Starscream told him the plan on Thursday night.

“Why not? You can hang out with Slipstream. I thought you liked her,” his brother countered.

“I  _ do _ like Slipstream, but Aunt Dawn is  _ annoying! _ ”

“How so?” Starscream wanted to know.

“She always wants to hold me and she makes her voice weird and she only puts boring stuff on the TV.”

Well, Skywarp had him there, but it didn't change the fact that she was the only person in a 200-mile radius other than Starscream himself who was willing to put up with the little stinker.

“Where are you even going?” Skywarp wanted to know the next morning while Starscream was trying to force him into his school uniform.

“I already told you! I've got some work in Iacon,” the older Seeker grunted. “Will you stop squirming!?”

“I don't  _ wanna _ go to school!” Skywarp whined, shoving and slapping at the fingers trying to do up his shirt buttons.

“Fine, then you'll just have to go to our aunt's right now!” Starscream snapped at him.

“NOOOO!” Skywarp screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Then put on your uniform so I can take you to school!” his brother shouted back. He'd thought that he and Skywarp were doing relatively well together the past week or so, and this was a frustrating step back.

“NOO!!” the sparkling howled again, and this time he lashed out.

Starscream grunted as a rather uncoordinated little fist managed to clock him in the jaw.

“Ow! What the frag, Warp!” he yelped, jerking back.

“I'M NOT GOING!” the sparkling screamed, and Starscream lunged forward to catch hold of the back belt loop on his pants with practiced precision as he started to run toward the bedroom door.

“You are going to school today,” he said forcefully as he dragged his struggling brother across the floor on his butt, “if I have to carry you there myself!”

There was no way that he was going to let a Skywarp tantrum ruin his chances at finally losing his virginity.

Starscream eventually gave up on getting his brother fully uniformed for the day (their father would have been appalled, but then he always did advise his sons to pick their battles), and managed to wrestle the sparkling into the back of a transport with him. Skywarp spent the entire ride to the Academy wailing and Starscream pointedly ignored him, knowing that attention would only encourage the behavior.

When they finally arrived at the school, Skywarp suddenly became unprecedentedly clingy, latching himself onto his brother like one of the deep space leeches that Starscream and Skyfire used to spend hours ripping off the hull of their ship every time they flew through a nebula. Luckily, one of the teachers was kind enough to help him pry the sparkling off himself.

“For Primus's sake, Warp! You'll be just fine!” he said, starting to edge toward the door. Skywarp was still struggling to escape his teacher's clutches and return to his brother.

“Nooooooo!” the Seekerling howled. “Don't goooo!!!”

“I'll be back tomorrow,” Starscream assured him, but he stopped moving toward the door and fidgeted awkwardly with the clasp on his shoulder bag for a moment; he couldn't shake the feeling that he ought to be making more of an effort to calm his brother down himself. Most of the parents who were dropping off their children were watching him, including Senator Liftright, who was sending him one of the haughtiest looks he'd ever seen. What did they expect him to do, though? If he went back over there now, Skywarp would just latch onto him again and they would start the whole thing over again. No, the only thing for it was to rip off the metaphorical band-aid and make a hasty retreat.

“Alright, well... have a good day, Warp. Aunt Dawn will pick you up after school,” he called as he sped out the door, his brother's screams echoing after him.

Starscream couldn't deny that a part of him found his brother's sudden separation anxiety flattering, but it was mostly just confusing. Literally never before had Skywarp chosen Starscream over any of their other relatives. He pushed it out of his mind as something to figure out later, though; he had enough things to stress about today already.

For instance, the fact that Glitterbug seemed to have forgotten that he had gotten permission to leave early a whole week and a half ago.

“You're just going to Iacon, aren't you? You can take the groundbridge and be there in two seconds,” his boss pointed out.

“No, I was going to fly,” Starscream told her, his face fixing into a glare. “I haven't gotten a good fly in weeks.”

“But that's almost nine hours at full speed! You'll be too tired to do anything when you get there,” the femme protested.

“I was an intergalactic explorer before this, Glitterbug; I'm used to endurance flying,” he pointed out. Of course, he would also have plenty of time to sleep it off at the condo before he had to get ready to meet his date if he managed to get out of here at his originally intended time.

Fortunately, it seemed that the mention of his proper function had reminded Glitterbug that, even if she was currently his superior, he was (for most intents and purposes) still a member of a much higher social caste than she. The femme relented.

“But if you're going all the way up to Iacon anyway, I don't suppose I could trouble you to take these with you?” she wondered, pushing a box of holofile hard copies at him.

“This is my vacation time!” Starscream protested.

“It'll only take you a half hour or so,” his boss chirped. “You can say hi to your cousin while you're at it.”

Starscream wasn't sure how Glitterbug knew he had a cousin working in the Hall of Records, but imagined it probably had involved the two of them whispering about him over a buffet table at some boring work conference.

The flight to Iacon did Starscream even more good than he had expected. It was difficult to stress about anything when he was skimming over the Sonic Canyons and barrel rolling through cloud formations over the Acid Wastes. The negativity from Skywarp's end of their bond, his annoyance at being given such obnoxiously menial tasks from his boss, and even his anxieties about the fact that he was on his way to have a date with a gladiator he barely knew seemed to melt away behind him in the upper atmosphere.

He arrived at the Iaconian customs feeling windswept and giddy, and even laughed at some of the terrible jokes that the femme who scanned his documents made.

With the time difference, it was technically only an hour later than it had been when he'd left Vos, leaving him with most of the day to sleep, as he'd originally planned. When he woke, he'd still have plenty of time to make himself as devastatingly attractive as possible before dropping the documents at the Hall of Records and heading to meet Megatron for dinner. He might even go a little early so that he could visit Slipstream while he was at it—she would already know he was out overnight anyway, so he might as well make use of whatever advice he could get out of her.

For once, things just might have been going according to plan for Starscream.

 

* * *

  
  


Megatron was aware that most mechs would consider it a bit extreme to take a 14-hr flight just for a date with a mech he barely knew, but he supposed most mechs weren't attempting to woo the world's most beautiful Seeker from nearly the complete opposite end of the social hierarchy. An evening halfway across the globe was standard fare to the Vossian nobility, and Megatron would have to show Starscream that he could meet him at his own level if he wanted even the smallest hope of keeping his attention.

Switchback was less than pleased about him taking another weekend off so soon, but Megatron didn't especially care. It wasn't as if his manager could actually fire him, after all; who would bring in spectators for their ring?

Plus, the trip would give him a chance to meet up with the only significant sponsors their cause had garnered so far—a retired Air Command general by the name of Rampant. A few years ago, Megatron had liberated a few younglings from a brothel in Kaon and one of them had happened to be the grandson Rampant had been missing for several years. The old general had been very generous with his thanks, and Megatron had found him to be a surprisingly like-minded spark.

Unfortunately, he and his mate had moved to Iacon recently to be closer to their recovering grandson, and thus Megatron's chances to meet with him had decreased. On the other hand, he now had someone in Iacon who was willing to pull favors for him like securing box tickets to the opera, or getting him into the Hall of Records.

Rampant was waiting for him by the front steps of the Hall, customary gold walking stick in hand. He didn't need the stick, despite being well into his 30s, but he always carried it anyway, citing that it put potential enemies off guard. How any enemies could think a mech nearly as tall and broad as Megatron himself was anything like frail was anyone's guess, though.

“You're looking healthy, Megatron,” the Seeker observed when Megatron was in hailing distance. “Then again, it's probably hard not to with a genetic blend like yours.”

Megatron gave the Seeker a wry half-smile, and Rampant's own smile faltered slightly.

“I apologize. I'm unaccustomed to being around people who aren't overly eager to announce their heritage to the whole world.”

“Don't worry about it,” Megatron waved the minor faux pas aside. “And, for the record, I take quite a bit of pride in at least half my heritage.”

“You do, don't you?” Rampant agreed, his smile returning full force. “See, that's what I respect so much about you, Megatron: you're not afraid of where you come from. Every other so-called reformist I've run across really just wanted to escape is own station in life, usually by trampling over everyone else who shared it. You were the first who earnestly wanted to make things better for everyone.”

“Well,” Megatron coughed, fighting back a blush. He didn't know what it was about Rampant, but he always felt a strange sense of giddiness when the older mech praised him.

“So, I assume you had some ulterior motive in asking to meet here,” Rampant continued, glancing up at the building behind them. “Probably one involving my unlimited records access. What rare ancient poetry are we dredging up today?”

“Not poetry—not today,” Megatron told him. “Someone recently recommended I research the post-Quintesson restoration.'

“Did they now?” the Seeker's eyebrows went up. “To be honest, I'm not so sure I want you to. There are some incredibly unflattering holovids of me hanging around from back then, I'm sure.”

Megatron let out a bark of laughter. “I promise not to look too closely, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Well, that's alright, then,” Rampant said, his own eyes crinkling in amusement as he waved for Megatron to follow him up the building's front steps. “Are you looking for inspiration on how to start a new Golden Age, perhaps?”

“I think we both know I have little patience for the kind of Golden Age that Sentinel Prime gave us after the Quintessons left,” Megatron grumbled as he started to climb. “No, actually, a particularly well-informed femme insinuated that researching the time period might grant insights into some of the reasoning behind the less reasonable sides of Form and Function.”

“While you're at it, you might be interested in looking at the hearings where the Patterners managed to make hysterectomies illegal, too. I know you were talking about trying to counteract that legislation somewhere down the line,” Rampant advised. “I think more than low-caste femmes would thank you if you managed to succeed. Those Patterners were just plain spiteful, I'm telling you! Forget the whole business of whether or not it's ethical to permanently take away a femme's Primus-given powers of procreation, what about us poor mechs who have to deal with cycling?”

Megatron grunted in agreement. Mechs hadn't been able to conceive since the prehistoric times before the Great Cataclysm, but that didn't stop some one in every ten mechs' bodies still stubbornly continuing to plague them with a round of fertility cycles every couple thousand years. Megatron had gone ahead and had his gestation chamber removed at a back alley chop shop ages ago to take care of it, and had almost died of infection as a result. He didn't recommend the option to anyone who had others.

“Speaking of which, are those contraceptives we sent for your district working out?” Rampant wanted to know.

“They seem to be,” the gladiator replied. “We've had a marked reduction in pre-natal mortalities this last year.”

“Lovely! So, for now, it's still just a matter of figuring out what to do with that one sparkling you've got on your hands already. What's his name again?”

“Knock Out.”

“Ah, yes.” Rampant seemed to think for a moment. “You know, I could probably figure out who his father is, if you wanted.

“No!” Megatron said quickly. “No, you don't need to do that.”

“Oh, it wouldn't be difficult. I'd just have to—”

“Rampant,” the gladiator interrupted him. “I have seen firsthand what happens when those in high places find out their lives are about to be derailed by something as easy to dispose of as a sparkling. There is no way I am letting any of them find out we've been harboring their potential social downfall.”

“I see,” Rampant remarked after an awkward pause. “One of these days, you really are going to have to tell me more about your past, Megatron. I get more and more curious every time we talk.”

Megatron smiled drily. “One day,” he agreed.

It didn't take long to find the section of the archives for the time period Megatron was looking for, but it did take an inordinate amount of time to convince the desk clerk to let them access the files.

“I've been told not to open them to anyone without Council clearance,” the femme kept insisting.

“I'm  _ in _ half of these files!” Rampant protested. “Only superficially for a good many of them, but I  _ am _ there; Maelstrom and I were bodyguards for the Council when it was first organized.”

“Doesn't matter, sir. I have my directives,” the femme yawned. And then her gaze focused on Megatron, and her entire demeanor changed at once. “I know you! You're the gladiator what ran his sword through Cutthroat at that match a couple weeks ago! I loved that match—was on the edge of my seat the whole time. What was your name again?”

“It's Megatron,” the gladiator informed her, pushing forward to her desk and turning his charm up all the way. “I wouldn't have expected such a refined gem as yourself to be interested in blood sports.”

The femme shrugged, a small blush creeping into her cheeks. “Can't argue with the sight of a couple fine specimens of mech grappling it out to see which is...  _ superior _ .” Her eyes tracked unashamedly over Megatron's form.

“I always appreciate someone with an eye for quality.” Megatron winked and thought he heard Rampant make a small noise of something between amusement and disbelief behind him. “I'm fighting a tag team match next month: me and Soundwave (you'll remember him—the one from my ring with the feelers) against Chainlink and Grinder from the Slaughter City circuit. What would VIP tickets be worth to you?”

The femme narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“You aren't just playing me, are you?” she asked.

“Do you have a personal datapad on you?”

She handed him one, and he tapped a few links, input a couple of codes, and passed it back to her. There was a moment in which she just stared, open-mouthed at the screen, and then she looked up, her face now all warm smiles and invitation.

“I'll have those files right out for you. Was there a particular topic you were interested in?” she chirped.

Ten minutes later, Rampant was chuckling as they made their way back toward the main entrance, the inner compartments of Megatron's bag happily laden with data chips.

“I must say, I didn't have you pegged as the sort who went for femmes, Megatron,” he remarked.

“I'm not,” the gladiator assured him, “but she doesn't need to know that yet.”

“I thought you were against exploitation.”

“If she's going to use me for her own personal entertainment, she can't complain if I'm going to use her for more savory gains.”

“I suppose that's one way of looking at it.”

“What about you, though,” Megatron said, eager to change the subject. “I knew you must have  _ known _ the former Air Commander if you were one of his generals, but I didn't realize you went so far back.” He was very much suspicious that his sponsor just might have a more or less avuncular relationship with the mech he was currently trying to get in bed with, and wouldn't that be awkward?

“Oh, have I never mentioned? Maelstrom is... was. He  _ was _ a dear friend,” Rampant explained, a hollow sort of sadness creeping into his eyes. “We fought the Quintessons together when we were barely old enough to scan alt modes.”

“Ah,” Megatron commented, his fears confirmed.

“He was a good one; kept a lot of idiots in line. I'm worried for the future of Vos now he and Daybreak are gone,” Rampant continued. “He was interested in you, you know. We talked about your work once or twice before the accident and he was interested in meeting. Never got around to it....”

“Pity,” the gladiator remarked, though his true feelings on the matter were more conflicted. The Vossian Air Commander and his wife would have been the kind of allies who could have taken them places, but he counted himself lucky he hadn't met Starscream while the Seeker still had parents to disapprove of who he was going on dates with.

“If the Air Commander was interested, though,” he continued after a moment, “then I can't help but wonder if...”

Megatron stopped talking as the sound of voices came drifting around the next bend in the corridor.

“I'm sure he's settled down fine now he's actually there,” one of the voices was saying, and there was something surprisingly familiar about it now that Megatron was actually listening. “I mean, he spent the entire first two months after I started taking care of him complaining about how much he wanted to go back to your place.”

A pair of almost identical Seekers rounded the corner, and Megatron's spark gave a little jump as he realized that they were none other than Starscream and Slipstream. Of course, now that he thought of it, Starscream technically worked for the Hall of Records and had every reason to be there, but... he just hadn't thought about it.

The two cousins were walking excessively close to one another with their hands intertwined and their heads bowed together conspiratorially. It was a posture a lot of Seekers assumed with close relatives, whether they got on with them or not, Megatron had noticed. The gladiator also couldn't help noticing that Starscream in particular looked far more relaxed than he'd seen him on any of their previous encounters. There was something almost unbearably endearing about the sight.

“I dunno, Star,” Slipstream was saying as they approached. “He's probably grown attached to your love of chaotic living situations. How long has it been since you cleaned anything at your place now?”

Starscream made a hissing noise and tugged on a bit of his cousin's hair. The femme laughed as she smacked his hand away, and then noticed the two mechs standing in the hallway in front of them. She stopped short, her face going from amusement to surprise to what Megatron could only classify as “manic glee” in the space of about two milliseconds. Her cousin noticed the halt and looked up to see what had caused it.

He actually screamed, both hands quickly flying to his mouth to stifle the noise.

“Well, I know he's a bit startling, but you don't have to be so rude about it, Starscream,” Rampant chuckled, stepping forward. “How are you, bitlets?”

Megatron couldn't help but envy Vossians and their culture of physical affection as his friend pulled first Slipstream and then Starscream into bone-crushing hugs, which Slipstream returned wholeheartedly and Starscream endured with stiff-backed politeness.

“Rampant, I didn't realize you were in the habit of making friends with gladiators,” Slipstream commented when they had separated.

“Megatron here is much more than a gladiator, dear,” the general informed her, turning as if to invite said gladiator into the conversation.

“Oh, we know,” the femme assured him. “Don't we, Star?”

Her cousin, who had thus far been staring very determinedly at the wall, jerked and shot a glare at her.

“You're acquainted?” Rampant wondered.

And now Starscream was starting to look like he might make a run for it at any second, so Megatron decided it was time he added some input.

“Starscream and I recently struck up a professional relationship,” he explained. “He's been investigating our efforts in Kaon.”

Rampant nodded in understanding, and some of the tension left the younger Seeker's body. Megatron flashed him what he hoped was a warm smile, and felt another jolt of giddiness run through him when the other mech returned it with a hint of shyness. Starscream's smile was every inch as beautiful as he had remembered, and Megatron was suddenly overcome with the realization that Starscream was small enough for him to scoop up in one arm and carry like a sparkling. He wanted to. He  _ really _ wanted to.

“Is the Hall of Records investigating your work now?” Rampant wondered, pulling Megatron out of his somewhat inappropriate urges.

“Not very aggressively,” Starscream replied for him. “They sent me to do an investigation that I wasn't able to complete, and we've heard nothing of it since.”

The older Seeker hummed thoughtfully at this news.

“Rampant,” Slipstream spoke up suddenly, “would you actually be able to help me out with something perhaps? I'm working through a list of topics we got for our investigators that are all from around the middle of the Golden Age, and I just can't figure out how to prioritize them. I thought it might be best to ask someone who lived through it.”

“Oh, well...” Rampant's turned to Megatron. 

“I’ll be in town until tomorrow evening if you’d like to meet up again at some point,” the gladiator told him, sending silent thanks in the seeker femme's direction for reading into the situation so perfectly. 

“Well, I should have some free time tomorrow. I’ll let you know. Enjoy the rest of your evening!” Rampant gave him a pat on the shoulder before walking off with Slipstream, leaving the other two blissfully alone at last. Starscream instantly began fidgeting with some imagined dust on his suit front.

“So,” Megatron began after a moment of awkward silence. “It's unexpected, but it's good to see you so soon.”

“Um, yes. Yes, it is,” Starscream agreed, raising his gaze to somewhere around the gladiator's midriff. “What, uh... What brought you here? And... I didn't realize you... Rampant is an old family friend. You know each other?”

“Oh. Yes. I happened to rescue his grandson from a rather unfortunate fate in Kaon a while back, along with some other younglings,” Megatron explained. “Rampant has been generous with his appreciation.”

“Oh.” Starscream's eyebrows came together like he was trying to figure that out somehow.

“I could tell you about it over some energon, if you like,” the gladiator offered. “Regular grade, of course.”

He had been trying to make a joke, but Starscream's expression soured slightly; Megatron made a mental note to avoid Starscream's past foibles as potential conversation topics.

“I avoid high grade on first dates as a rule,” he added quickly, trying to save the situation.

“Yes, well... I avoid first dates as a rule,” Starscream muttered, his gaze turning askance.

Megatron's smile faltered slightly. “If you don't actually want to do this...”

“No! No, I just... running into you here... threw me off a little,” Starscream blurted hastily, a hand going up to fidget with his hair, which Megatron now noticed had the ruffled look that 'bots tended to get when they'd been mechanized for a while. “I thought I'd have more time to get ready.”

The grin returned to Megatron's face, and he reached out to tug the Seeker's hand gently away from his head. “You look exquisite,” he assured him, and he could practically hear Starscream's spark skipping a beat as the Seeker's face filled with color.

“Um... Thank you,” the younger mech said, his mouth curling in an embarrassed smile.

Megatron made another mental note to compliment him as often as possible.

“So... fuel?” he suggested, shifting his hold on the Seeker’s slender hand to twine their fingers together.

“Yes. Good idea,” Starscream agreed, giving the gladiator a small squeeze in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on to fluff and stuff!!!!


	13. In Which Starscream Gets an Unpleasant Surprise

Over the years, Starscream had had considerable opportunities to witness his cousin in action as she roped any number of mechs (and the occasional femme) into her net of gossamer charms. He had asked her once why she felt the need to completely change everything about herself when she was talking to someone she liked, and she had responded that the people that wanted someone who looked like Slipstream did not want someone who behaved like Slipstream. Apparently, they instead wanted someone who listened intently to their every word with big, liquid eyes, laughed at every single ham-fisted attempt they made at humor, and didn't have an opinion of her own about anything. There was an awful lot of body language involved, too, like constantly fixing one's hair and tossing one's head in certain ways... Not to mention all the random casual touches. It was a complex net that his cousin wove.

Starscream had tried it out exactly once in his life, just to see if he looked similar enough to his cousin that it would work for him as well. The results had been somewhat disturbing, and it had taken him three months to get his guinea pig to stop trying to contact him. He had never tried it since then because.... Well, mostly because tonight was the first time that he had gone into an interaction with the express intention of trying to get the other mech to sleep with him. He was going to have to be fantastic in every way.

At least Megatron had good enough taste in restaurants; Starscream found himself carrying out his act in one of the nicer fueleries in Iacon's central district, rather than the hole-in-the-wall dive he had mentally prepared himself for. Not that the location mattered too terribly. If they were in a substandard place, then it would only make Starscream's charms stand out all the more, he reasoned. He just spent far too much time eating cheap, stale energon on missions to put up with it at home.

“So,” he began as they settled into their booth, “what does a big ole mech like you get up to all week?” He flashed a winning smile and a quick but suggestive raise of the eyebrows as he said it.

On the other side of the table, the gladiator's own rather impressive eyebrows hitched their way up his forehead a bit.

“Hitting people with blunt objects, mostly,” he replied. “And occasionally some sharp ones.”

Ah, that would be a joke. Starscream forced a light laugh.

“What a _brute!”_ he giggled, tilting his head down to look up through his lashes at the other mech. “All those muscles have to be good for something, though. Bet you're the best around.”

Being one himself, Starscream didn't need an advice blog or his cousin to tell him that mechs loved when people made space in the conversation for them to brag.

Megatron was giving him an odd look, though.

“People seem to want to give me that label, yes, but only because I am still alive,” he said. “You will find, Starscream, that there are plenty of gladiators other than myself who have managed that feat. Survival is something of a habit, and once you've walked out of three or four fights in the pits, you tend to keep doing so. I just happen to do it with a bit more flare than some of the others.”

Ah, of course. Starscream had momentarily forgotten that his date was a philosopher as well as a warrior. In that case, perhaps there was a slightly different strategy that he could employ here.

“And between all that surviving, you manage to find time for plenty of other things, don't you?” he said, leaning forward coquettishly to rest his chin on one fist. “Something of a wrench in the system, aren't you?”

“Not that the system needs one,” Megatron replied, still giving Starscream that weird, almost concerned look. “The functionists practically built it out of wrenches and loose gears.”

“How's that?” Starscream wanted to know.

“Well, look at you, for example,” the gladiator started, waving a hand at the Seeker's general person. “You get stuck planetside for too long to continue performing your original function, so the council reassigns you to what—another scientific function? No, they give you something you're utter rubbish at just because you can fly to the different locations they want you at easily enough.”

“I am not _rubbish!_ ” Starscream protested, sitting back and glaring indignantly at the other mech.

Megatron's expression shifted into surprise for a split second, and then a smile started spreading across his face.

“No, you're just the sort of cultural investigator who manages to get himself beaned in the head with a paving stone before he even gets to the event he was supposed to be observing,” he said.

Starscream's jaw dropped, but only for a second.

“That had nothing to do with my ability to perform my job, and you said so yourself!” he snapped. “In fact, I probably learned more sitting in that pathetic excuse for a doctor's office than I would have at your rally.”

“Ah, yes,” Megatron agreed, his smile broadening. “Especially while you were unconscious.”

“It's a temporary reassignment, anyway,” the Seeker sniffed. “I don't have to be good at it.”

He could feel his face starting to heat up and grabbed his menu to hide behind for a minute. This conversation was taking a strange turn, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something here.

“So, what exactly did you study at the academy, anyway?” Megatron wanted know.

“Oh, I would hardly expect _you_ to have any interest in all of that,” Starscream sniffed before he could stop himself.

“Try me,” the gladiator prodded, now leaning across the table himself, his face fixed in amusement.

Starscream observed him critically over the top of his menu for a second.

“My first certification was for non-military chemistry with a specialization in theoretics and the mass effect sector, not that I imagine you know what that is,” he started.

“Not a clue, but go on,” Megatron prompted.

Odd. Mechs weren't supposed to encourage you to insult their intelligence, but Starscream continued anyway.

“I went on from there to earn a doctorate in deep space navigation with a focus on xenocartography and macro energy current analysis. I also have master's certifications in celestial biology, geology, metallurgy, nebulonics, cosmology, and technical writing. Oh, and I'm a certified trauma surgeon.”

“Why the surgery?” Megatron wanted to know.

“Because there aren't any hospitals on the majority of alien planets, and even if you do manage to hit a civilized one, they might not know Cybertronian biology,” the Seeker scoffed, feeling that this should have been obvious. “I had to sew my own leg back together once after fending off a herd of savage organics with tusks the size of your arm.”

He hadn't actually done the sewing himself. He'd mostly just screamed a lot and passed out while Skyfire did it for him, but Megatron didn't need to know that. And besides, he _had_ managed to bandage it out in the field and then drag himself to somewhere he could get enough reception to radio for one of the other crew members to come get him without bleeding out. He deserved at least some credit for that, he felt.

“So, tell me about deep space navigation, then,” Megatron prompted, bringing the Seeker's attention back to the present.

“That would take the whole evening,” Starscream muttered.

“Well, then I suppose it's a good thing we _have_ the whole evening,” the other mech pointed out.

Starscream opened his mouth to ask him what he wanted to know, and then caught himself. This was not what he was here for. Lectures about warp engine calibration and celestial energy fields could wait for another day. Tonight was supposed to be about seduction, and he found it hard to believe that any mech would find him attractive while he was rambling about quantum causation theory and the flow patterns of non-specific planar quarks.

“No, you don't want to hear about all that,” he said, waving the topic aside.

“I do, though,” Megatron insisted. “I would very much like to hear you talk about it.”

“Why?” Starscream asked, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

“Because,” the gladiator said, the corner of his mouth quirking up mischievously, “I happen to like watching your mouth move when you say words like 'xenocartography.'”

Starscream made a slight choking noise, but was saved having to reply to that comment when a waiter appeared at their table. Having been too distracted to actually study the menu, Starscream just ordered the first thing on it containing capsaicin and then fiddled with his napkin while Megatron made his order.

It seemed that there were some variables in this situation that he had not accounted for. Megatron was being... unpredictable, and Starscream wasn't sure how he felt about that.

“Starscream?”

He looked up to find the gladiator staring at him expectantly. Perhaps it wasn't too late to salvage this, he told himself, and then slipped back into flirtatious mode, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand again and fluttering his lashes up at the older mech.

“I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there. What was that?” he simpered.

Megatron reached over and knocked his hand out from under his chin. The Seeker gasped in shock and offense as his cheek smacked into the glass that would have held some kind of fancy energon wine had he been brave enough to try and drink tonight, toppling it over into his plate.

“What the Pit!?” he demanded as he hastily corrected his place settings.

“Stop,” Megatron said simply, not yet releasing his hold on the smaller mech's wrist.

“Stop what!?”

“The pretending,” the gladiator explained. “If I'd wanted to spend an evening with your cousin, I would have asked _her_ out.”

Starscream's jaw dropped, and he felt energon rush to his face. Had he been that obvious?

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he sniffed, tugging on his captive wrist. He may as well have been pulling on a brick wall, and Megatron just smiled at his efforts, holding him just tightly enough not to hurt.

“I told you that I like _you_ , Starscream,” he said. “So be yourself for me, would you?”

“And what would you know about me, you self-righteous boob!?” he snapped, and then instantly wanted to bite his own tongue off. Who cared if the gladiator was being a bit more troublesome than Starscream had expected? All he'd needed to do was keep his mouth shut long enough to get himself fragged, and then he would have something to show to prove he wasn't jealous of his brother. Apparently, even that had been too tall an order for him to fill.

But Megatron, who he had fully expected to scowl and throw back something equally insulting, just grinned and shifted his hold from the Seeker's wrist to twine their fingers together instead.

“Just like that,” he said. “No need to worry about impressing me, niblet; you've already done that.”

The energon was rushing to Starscream's face once more, and he squeezed Megatron's hand back as hard as he could, out of both irritation and nerves.

“Call me that again and I'll rip your fingers off,” he hissed with a sickly sweet smile.

Megatron just laughed, his thumb caressing the smooth skin on the back of Starscream's hand. The gesture sent an electric thrill through Starscream's body, one that he hadn't felt many times in his past.

This was... weird. It was almost like the more filters he took off his personality, the more Megatron was enjoying it, and that was wrong. Nobody liked Starscream when he wasn't filtering himself. Even Skyfire, who had practically worshiped the air he flew through, had always been telling him to tone things down. Was Megatron some kind of masochist, perhaps?

“With that kind of spirit, I'm surprised you didn't make it into the Air Command,” Megatron continued. “Did you fail the flight test?”

Starscream scoffed. “Please. I can outmaneuver any Seeker in Vos.”

“Oh? Even that one guy—what's his name? He took first in every category of Aerial Maneuvers at the last ten Praxus Games?”

“Zipline?” Starscream rolled his eyes. “He's just lucky most of the best fliers _do_ get assigned to the Air Command and not athletics. _I_ was trained by the best of the best, and outstripped them all before my alt mode had even fully settled.”

“You'll have to show me sometime,” his date purred.

“You wouldn't even be able to see most of it from the ground,” Starscream pointed out.

“Who said I'd be on the ground?”

Starscream blinked. Low-casters weren't allowed to have alt modes. It was one of many ways that the council kept them where they were supposed to be, but... His eyes flicked up to Megatron's own crimson ones, which were crinkled in amusement. He never had gotten around to asking him about his heritage. Was he... He couldn't really be a Seeker, too, could he? There was a certain tilt to his features that certainly suggested it, but how would that even work? Starscream supposed if he got the gladiator to take his shirt off later that evening and found wings on his back, then that would answer that question at least.

Suddenly, he was hyper aware of the sensation of Megatron's hand on his and the fact that there was something bordering on affection in the other mech's eyes along with the amusement. Despite the strange turn that this date was taking, Starscream was still thinking about having sex with Megatron, and it had just occurred to him that the gladiator was likely thinking about the same thing.

Was Megatron wondering what his wings would look like, too—folded and compressed securely into the lines of his back? What would the hand holding his now feel like on his wings? Would it just be the same as when his father or brother helped massage the kinks out for him, or would it somehow be more? What would Megatron's touch feel like on his stomach? His thighs? His...

The arrival of their fuel saved Starscream from his dangerously spiraling thoughts and the warmth that had started gathering between his legs. He shifted awkwardly as Megatron released his hand, surprised to find that he felt a bit... _damp_. He knew that was a thing, but couldn't remember the last time it had happened to him.

Starscream busied himself examining his fuel and deciding that it did not have enough capsaicin in it. He asked the waiter to bring the bottle from the kitchen. The mech barely concealed his surprise before disappearing and returning only a moment later with a bottle of thick, reddish-orange sauce. Both he and Megatron's eyebrows went up as the Seeker pulled off the little plastic ring that allowed only a few drops to leave the bottle at a time and upended about half of the bottle's contents over his plate.

“What is that?” Megatron wanted to know, and Starscream realized then that the gladiator had probably never seen the stuff before. After all, it was something that one of his colleagues at the Altihex corps had discovered on some organic planet only a million years ago, and it was only within the last couple centuries that anyone outside the corps had started eating it.

“Oh, you wouldn't like it,” he assured the other mech, shaking one last blot into his fuel before handing the bottle back to the waiter. “It's like if pain had a flavor.”

“He's not wrong,” the waiter put in.

“So, why do you eat it?” Megatron wondered.

Starscream shrugged, scooping up a bit of red-topped energon suspension and popping it into his mouth. “Because energon that's been in a storage hold for five years tastes like scrap and this stuff masks it,” he supplied after he'd swallowed. “It's good, but you have to build up a tolerance.”

The gladiator studied him for a moment before turning to the waiter.

“Can I see that?”

Starscream watched with mounting anticipation as Megatron piled the oil onto his own fuel. The waiter walked off with the now-empty bottle, muttering under his breath about fools.

“You aren't really going to eat that, are you?” Starscream asked, quirking one eyebrow at him.

For answer, Megatron scooped up a large bite and maintained full eye contact with the Seeker as he put it in his mouth. He paused, one eye twitching slightly, and then coughed, keeping his mouth clamped firmly shut over the spoon still protruding from it.

“I warned you,” Starscream sighed, taking another bite of his own fuel.

There was sweat beading on the gladiator's forehead as he slowly pulled the spoon out, chewed, and swallowed.

“...good...” he gasped.

“If you say so.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of dinner progressed in a similarly confusing fashion. They argued about politics, Starscream called Megatron's intelligence into question no less than five times, and also spent a full twenty minutes rambling about the Relative Warp Paradox. The more blunt, scornful, and generally obnoxious he got, the more Megatron seemed to enjoy him. It was uncanny, but also strangely satisfying. It was like the relief he got from letting go of his inhibitions when overcharged, only he was completely lucid and wasn't going to have a headache in the morning.

Megatron paid for dinner (Starscream was really starting to wonder just how much gladiators made), and the two of them headed for the opera house.

Starscream was almost as nervous for this part of the evening as he was for what might come after it. He and Megatron had already been in the tabloids together once, and he could just imagine what was going to come out about them tomorrow if anyone who cared happened to see them walking into the opera house together.

But that was good, he reminded himself as they arrived at the opulent building. This was all to prove a point about himself, and having it splashed across the tabloids would only help. In fact, he wished he could see Thundercracker's face when his brother found out important personal information about him from a newspaper instead of his own mouth. That would teach him not to respond to his comms.

That was what he told himself as Megatron questioningly offered his arm at the base of the opera house steps, his eyes glittering splendidly in the lights from the domes of the building. He certainly didn't take it because the warmth of the gladiator by his side made his stomach swoop like hitting the downdrafts on the far side of a mountain range. And Megatron's obvious approval of his defiant streak definitely wasn't his motivation for pretending he didn't care about any and all of the whispers that might have been about them. Oh, no. It was all just a highly calculated act.

“Iacon's opera house certainly lives up to its fame,” Megatron remarked, his eyes turned upward as they passed into the main entrance hall. “We don't have any chandeliers that big in Kaon.”

“Do you go to the opera much in Kaon?” Starscream wanted to know.

“Every now and then,” the older mech confessed. “Wouldn't have dreamed it when I was your age, but I have always been a patron of the arts in some form or another.”

“What did you do before you went into the pits?” the Seeker suddenly found himself wondering.

“Mining.”

“A lot of art in the mines, then?”

“Only as much as there are artists.”

Starscream wasn't sure what to make of that comment and so let it be. They had to focus on finding their way to the correct box in the correct performance hall then anyway. As he had only ever been to his parents' box in the main hall, Starscream was almost as lost as Megatron in navigating the seemingly endless sequence of staircases, lifts, and side halls that eventually deposited them in the narrow corridor running behind the private boxes on level four of the left balcony.

“They certainly don't want anyone wandering in casually, do they?” Megatron commented when they'd finally found their seats.

“Well, duh,” Starscream snorted. “What would be the point of paying for them if just anyone could find their way up here?”

“You'd think with the amount we do pay for them they might bother to include a map with the ticket,” the other mech muttered as he settled into the red plush upholstery of his seat. “Oo, this is nice, though. Definitely better than the ones in Kaon.”

Starscream just snorted again at his obvious lack of experience and sank gracefully onto the edge of his own seat, folding one thin leg daintily behind the other.

“The femme singing the part of Solus tonight is actually from Kaon,” Megatron commented after a moment. “I saw her in _Razoredge_ a while back. Did a stunning rendition of 'Razoredge's Lament.' Hardly a dry eye in the house.”

“You truly are a mech of many surprises, Megatron,” Starscream told him, and this time the coquettish smile and tilt to his head were entirely genuine.

“Because I enjoy opera?” he wanted to know.

“Among other things.”

The gladiator smiled back and reached for the hand Starscream had lain on his arm rest, carefully folding the Seekers' delicate, narrow fingers in his own rough, blunt ones. Starscream felt that swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach again, only this time, it tapered off into a strange, cramping.

“You alright?” Megatron asked, his grip loosening, and Starscream hastily grabbed his hand back, schooling his features once more.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he assured the gladiator.

The house lights flashed then, announcing the imminent start of the show, and the two of them lapsed into silence.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was not sure that he had ever experienced anything quite so agonizingly tantalizing as trying to sit in the dark beside Megatron for a full three hours of theater. The other mech kept hold of his hand the whole time, but he didn't just hold it—oh, no. He stroked it, he squeezed it, he ran his fingers along Starscream's fingers only to delicately pinch the tips of each, sending little shivers down the Seeker's spine. And every now and then, he would lean over and whisper some comment about the show in Starscream's ear, his warm breath tickling the hair on the side of the Seeker's face and his voice managing to sound low and intimate even for sentences like:

“The sound technician just dropped his pen into the orchestra pit!”

With each passing minute, Starscream could feel the tension in his stomach building higher and higher. It had passed the swooping stage long ago and was now more of a constant dull ache that he didn't think was normal. And then there was the wetness.

At first, he had just been mildly annoyed by how easily Megatron was able to coax that particular response out of his body when his struggle to achieve it even under appropriate circumstances in the past was just one of many reasons he was still a virgin, but it had moved past that by now. This was no longer damp and just straight up _wet_. It was most uncomfortable, and he was starting to worry it was going to be enough to soak through his pants soon, and... no. Just no. He wasn't _that_ desperate for sex.

They were only about an hour into the show when Starscream realized that he was too physically uncomfortable to enjoy any of this anymore and that he was going to have to do something about it.

“I'll... be right back,” he promised, slipping his hand carefully out of Megatron's and getting to his feet.

“Don't fall in,” the gladiator teased, and Starscream hurried away before he could see the flush that colored his cheeks.

The bathroom was two floors down and, thankfully, deserted when Starscream got there. He cautiously poked around the stalls, trying to decide which one felt the most secure, before finally deciding on the one second from the end.

He paused for a moment after locking the door behind himself and doubled over as his stomach cramped again, far worse than it had thusfar. The pain seemed to be migrating around into his back and hips as well as his stomach now, and that couldn't be right. For one thing, he wasn't the least bit aroused right now.

When the pain subsided a bit, he went ahead and dropped his pants, fully expecting to find them embarrassingly soaked in pearlescent lubricants. The actuality was worse.

So much worse.

The crotch of Starscream's underwear was completely covered in energon—dark, cobalt energon of the sort that a body leaked on the tail end of a fertility cycle.

 


	14. In Which Starscream Gets a Far More Pleasant Surprise

Starscream's first instinct was to panic because... Well, because he was bleeding, and bleeding had always been something to panic about in the past. This wasn't just any bleeding either—he was in the middle of a strangely fantastic date with a gorgeous mech _and he was leaking energon from his valve!_

And he was wearing a white suit.

Miraculously, none of it had soaked through to his pants yet, but it was only a matter of time because he had no sanitary supplies with him. Why would he? This had never happened before. He'd had no indication that it was going to happen. He knew the one in ten statistic as well as any other mech, yes, and he also knew he was the right age for it to start if it was going to, but... He'd just assumed he would be one of the nine!

As the panic started mounting and he continued seeing no solution for this fiasco, Starscream's next instinct was to call his mother.

The line actually rang twice before he remembered that no one would ever answer it.

And then he really started panicking because oh, dear Primus _his mother was dead._

Starscream sank down against the closed door of the stall, grateful for the sound proofing as his breathing started to escalate. Grief, embarrassment, panic, and a million other emotions were surging up inside of him, making his vision swim and choking his vents.

It had been a while since he'd had a panic attack without someone else around to talk him through it, and he was having a hard time remembering what to do. There was something about breathing, he remembered that, and something about... senses? Smells? Ground? Grounding! But how did that work again?

He couldn't remember. He couldn't think. He needed help!

Starscream wasn't consciously aware of calling his brother until Thundercracker's groggy voice was coming through his comm line.

“Starscream, it's five in the morning. This better be an emergency,” the younger Seeker grumbled.

Starscream opened his mouth to say something, but his processor stalled. What was he supposed to say right now? Why had he even called Thundercracker to begin with? Forget the fact that they were in the middle of a fight, his brother had never had a cycle before. He'd never found himself sitting in a public bathroom trying to find some way to deal with the fact that he was leaking energon from unspeakable places! This was a far from ideal manner to break radio silence.

A dry sob escaped Starscream before he could stop it.

“Starscream? What's going on?” Thundercracker suddenly sounded a lot more awake.

The older Seeker just continued to cry, his sobs hitching between irregular vents. This was possibly the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him.

“Star, are you having a panic attack?”

“Ye-e-e-esss!” he managed to wail back.

“What's going on? Is Warp okay?”

“I can't... I just...” He couldn't say it out loud. It was too embarrassing. He clenched his hands in his hair, pulling his knees up to his chest to bury his face in them.

And then, the link between himself and his brother that had been closed for so long was suddenly open again, and his spark was flooding with Thundercracker's steady, warm assurance.

“Star, just _breathe_ and tell me what's going on,” his brother was saying.

Starscream did breathe, taking a good, long pull of air in through his nose and letting it cycle through his body for a second before letting out the exhaust through his mouth in another long hiss. He did it a couple more times, feeling his emotions starting to come back down to baseline as his brother tugged and prodded at him.

“Now, what's going on?” Thundercracker repeated when he could feel that Starscream was starting to come back toward a baseline state.

“I'm bleeding!” the older Seeker informed him, a few more sobs escaping him.

“What do you mean you're bleeding!? Like, seriously bleeding? Star, call a doctor, not me!” Thundercracker's own emotions were starting to escalate now. “Where are you right now?”

“No, I'm not...” He was just going to have to say it. There was still a gladiator waiting for him upstairs, and the longer he stayed down here, the more awkward the questions were going to get when he returned. “I just started cycling!” he finally managed to get out.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then his brother burst out laughing.

“It's not funny!” Starscream protested, annoyance starting to replace the panic from moments ago. “I'm wearing a white suit, and I don't have _anything!_ What the frag am I supposed to do!?”

“Wait, wait, wait... Are you out right now?” Thundercracker wanted to know, his voice still full of mirth. “Where are you at five in the morning?”

“I'm in Iacon! It's nine o'clock in the evening here,” he snapped, wiping his face on his sleeve for lack of anything better to use. “Now stop laughing and _help me!_ ”

“Star, you know they have sanitary dispensers in most bathrooms, right? You've been seeing them your whole life; did you never notice?”

Oh.

Duh.

Really, how had he ever made it through the first million years of his life without Thundercracker?

“I... Of course I know that! I just...” he spluttered, starting to get to his feet again.

“Panicked?” his brother finished for him. “So, while you're having your existential crisis in the bathroom, where's our little brother?”

“He's still in Vos with our aunt,” Starscream explained, readjusting his clothes so that he could venture back out into the world beyond the stall door. He was just praying that the bathroom would still be deserted when he came out.

“You didn't take him with you?”

“Why would I?”

“The better question is why _wouldn't_ you?” Thundercracker mused. “What could Starscream possibly get up to all evening in Iacon that he wouldn't bring his little brother along for... You're not on a date, are you?”

“So what if I am?” Starscream snapped just before unlocking the door, breaking the sound proof seal on the little cubicle. He listened for a moment, trying to decide if there was anyone else out there, and then cautiously poked his head out. All clear.

On the other end of his comm line, Thundercracker was laughing again.

“Wait, wait, wait! So, you—Mr. Too-timid-to-look-another-mech-in-the-eye-let-alone-ask-him-out—are on a date, in Iacon, and you got your first cycle?!”

“It's really not funny, TC,” his older brother muttered as he crossed the room to the sanitary dispenser fixed to the far wall. “And which of these am I even supposed to get? There are fifteen different options!”

“Oh, well, nothing internal, I'd imagine,” Thundercracker told him, sobering up a bit. “You've still got your seal, so you'll hurt yourself if you try to put anything up there. Hey, who are you on a date with, anyway?”

Starscream was about to snap at him that it was none of his business, but then remembered that making Thundercracker jealous was the whole point of this venture in the first place.

“You remember that gladiator from Sweetrock's party?” he sniffed, trying to decide which level of absorbency he needed. Regular? Was regular fine? He wasn't likely to need “super” on his first time... was he?

“Oh, him. He seemed nice,” Thundercracker remarked.

“You got in a fight with him. Multiple times, from what Slipstream said.”

Starscream decided on regular. The machine pulled a single credit off his card, and a little plastic-wrapped square dropped into the dispenser box. He picked it up and examined its flower-decorated wrapping distastefully. The thing had clearly been designed with femmes in mind.

“Yeah, when I was overcharged,” Thundercracker yawned. “I thought he was trying to take you home with him, but he wasn't. And apparently, he played with Warp. So, good on you, bro. Where'd you take him?”

“ _He_ took _me_ to dinner. And the opera,” Starscream replied as he slipped back into his stall. “How does this thing work, anyway?”

“I dunno. Did you get a pad? I'm pretty sure you just stick it to your underwear.”

“My underwear is soaked in energon; the adhesive won't work,” Starscream pointed out.

“Well, figure it out, Mr. Scientist,” his brother said with another yawn. “Slipstream has some weird kind of underwear that just absorbs it on its own. You should ask her about that tomorrow.”

Starscream made a noise of agreement. He was going to have an awful lot of questions for his cousin tomorrow. Or perhaps he should ask her mother instead? After all, Slipstream had only just started having her cycles a couple years ago herself.

“Hey, Star?” Thundercracker spoke up after a beat of silence.

“What?” the older Seeker grunted, engaged in trying to figure out the best orientation for the pad on his underwear.

“Thanks for calling me,” Thundercracker continued.

“Why's that?”

“I hate fighting with you.”

Starscream blinked, unsure how to respond to that. Thundercracker was not the sort to be this vulnerable with his feelings most of the time.

“Are you overcharged?” he asked.

He got a laugh in return.

“Oh, and by the way, you should meet Cardinal properly sometime,” his little brother told him in an excited rush. “She's really great! I think you'd like her a lot. _I_ like her a lot. I think I'm gonna go steady with her.”

“That's... that's great, TC,” Starscream said, and he was sure that he would have felt something more on the matter if he weren't so distracted by his own issues at the moment.

“Hey, if things work out with... what's his name?”

“Megatron.”

“Yeah, if things work out with him, maybe we could do a double date sometime.”

“Maybe,” Starscream agreed, though he couldn't imagine any possible circumstance in which he wouldn't die of embarrassment introducing his little brother to someone he was sleeping with. That was assuming he managed to navigate the ending of this date successfully enough to secure a second one at a time when his valve was more presentable, at least.

“Enjoy your evening, Star.”

“Yeah, talk to you later.”

Starscream cut the line and pulled his pants back up, pad securely in place. It felt weird, but at least now he just had to worry about hiding the discomfort in his stomach for the rest of the night. He felt a lot better than he had when he'd first come in here, at any rate. Not only had he managed to conquer getting his cycle for the first time with only minimal humiliation, but he had somehow managed to patch things over with Thundercracker. His brother's good mood was humming quietly in his chest for the first time in weeks, and how could he worry about what some gladiator would think about his bathroom habits with that?

Still a little bit, apparently, he realized as he unlocked the stall door.

“—not going to be a problem unless we broadcast it to everyone else!”

Starscream stopped, his spark jumping up into his throat as the sound proofing came down. The bathroom was not deserted any longer.

Well, what should that matter? It wasn't as if it was strange for him to be in here, and there was no evidence as to _why_ he was in here. There was nothing for him to be embarrassed about—no reason he couldn't just waltz right out there...

“I'm just not sure I'm comfortable with it. I mean, this is a big deal!” a second voice spoke up, and Starscream very nearly swore aloud because he knew that voice.

“Steelrim, sweetie, we're politicians. Everything we do is a big deal,” the first voice chimed in again, and now Starscream recognized it as his would-be-suitor's mother.

Just his luck that they would be on a family outing to the opera the same night he was here.

“But this? Mom, this is practically murder!” Steelrim hissed, and Starscream felt his chest tighten. What exactly was he overhearing right now?

“No more than it was when your father closed down the housing projects in sector 37,” his mother scoffed. “Or when no one fixed that Primus-blessed fuel line under Fractal Lane.”

_“Mother!”_

“Oh, don't be so sensitive, Steel. You should count your blessings, too. You think Maelstrom would ever have let _you_ within a hundred meters of his son?”

Inside his stall, Starscream felt his stomach clench again and his vision went white for a second.

“You can't build a city without cutting down a few trees,” Steelrim's mother continued. “Be grateful I got you the opportunity to keep one at all.”

Steelrim muttered something that Starscream couldn't hear, but made his mother snort.

“Yes, well, we'll see what your father thinks about that,” she said. “We should get back now before he starts worrying we've been accosted in the halls. They let in all sorts of riffraff these days, you know.”

Starscream stayed frozen in place, hand on the doorknob for a good long while after he'd heard the bathroom door slide shut behind the two of them.

What had he just overheard? _What had he just overheard!?_

Were Steelrim's parents plotting to kill someone? Were they plotting to kill _him?_ No, that couldn't be right because it also sounded like they had jumped on board the Steelscream ship, which was almost equally terrifying. And the way that she had talked about his own parents!

Hot fury twisted Starscream's insides along with the fear. He knew that just about everyone in the upper caste gossiped and back-stabbed and generally found any reason they could to hate one another because that had been his life too for the past 3 million years, but it was always a surprise to find himself or his family on the receiving end. After all, his parents were good people—like, genuinely good people who made good things happen for others. Why did everyone manage to find so many reasons to hate on them?

All he could figure was that they were jealous.

And he had better things to worry about. Who cared what Steelrim's mother of all people thought about his parents? _Starscream_ certainly didn't! Her opinions didn't matter one bit. He didn't care.

He didn't...

 

* * *

 

The whole time Starscream was gone, Megatron had been thinking about the best way to tease him for having bodily functions. The options so far ranged from straight-up puerile to downright lewd with a good number of safer paths in the middle. Of course, he could have just let the whole thing pass, but he found that he really _liked_ pushing Starscream and being pushed back in return.

It wasn't just the lighter teasing, either. The Seeker had _opinions_ about things that he could _back up_ with _facts_ , and he didn't hold back or doubt himself just because he was going head to head with a mech three times his age. Sure, some of his facts were lacking and he obviously had his fair share of learning experiences to acquire still, but he was so much more interesting than any of the fawning fans Megatron had entertained over the last few million years. Really, how could he _not_ tease him?

It was almost the end of the first act when Starscream finally slipped back into his seat. Megatron hadn't even heard him come in, but suddenly there he was, small and beautiful and... upset?

Any clever comment Megatron might have made instantly died on his lips as he glanced over at the Seeker's profile. It was almost imperceptible in the gloom of their box, but there was a certain redness to young mech's nose and a bright, liquid quality to his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Megatron's stomach did a flip.

Had Starscream gone to the bathroom to cry...? Was it something that he had said or done? Was the teasing too much? Was he touching him too much? Was he not touching him enough? Had he made the poor thing feel like he wasn't attractive enough by not trying to make out with him in the seclusion of the balcony? He'd read that in novels, of course, but always thought it was just fiction. The upper castes didn't really come to the theater just to snog in semi-public, did they?

_Did they???_

He turned to the Seeker, mouth half-open because he felt like he ought to say something, but couldn't quite find the words... and hiccuped.

Starscream turned to him, expression mildly confused. Which was understandable—Megatron was well-aware that his hiccups typically sounded like they were coming from a mech a third his size.

“What was that?” the Seeker asked.

“N—hic—othing,” Megatron assured him.

An amused smile pulled at the corner of Starscream's mouth.

“I told you not to eat the capsaicin,” he smirked.

“It's not th—hic—at,” the gladiator protested.

“Don't worry; it gives a lot of people hiccups,” the younger mech told him. “And I really don't envy you your experiences tomorrow morning.”

“Wha—hic—at?”

“You'll see,” Starscream said cryptically, turning in his seat to drape his legs over one arm and lean back against the other.

Megatron hiccuped again, and the Seeker giggled.

“Shut—hic—up,” the gladiator growled, reaching an arm around the smaller mech to pull him into a pseudo head lock. Starscream squealed, kicking his legs as he squirmed his way out of his date's grasp, and when he emerged, his hair rumpled and face slightly flushed, he was smiling.

It was the first genuine smile Megatron had seen from him since the balcony at Sweetrock's party, and the gladiator's spark melted at the sight. He leaned forward, lips slightly parted.

The Seeker blinked in surprise and pulled back sharply. Megatron stopped, unsure.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, and then hiccuped again.

“No, I just... wasn't expecting it,” Starscream explained, blinking rapidly now.

“M—ay I?” Megatron asked, one hand hovering cautiously by the Seeker's cheek.

Starscream nodded, eyes wide and cheeks brilliantly flushed, like he didn't do this very often, and Megatron smiled again. Hiccups be pitted, he was going to kiss this mech.

He cupped the Seeker's face, and then slid his hand back to twine through thick, dark hair before leaning in closer, his gaze flicking back and forth between Starscream's lips and eyes. He was searching for a sign that this was okay. The Seeker had said it was, but... he wasn't moving. Megatron could feel the young mech's pulse quickening beneath the hand he had on his neck.

Their noses were almost touching now, and Starscream's nervous, crimson eyes filled Megatron's vision for a moment before they fluttered closed and the Seeker's breath came out of his vents in a warm rush. Starscream closed the gap, his nose bumping Megatron's, and the older mech tilted his head—a small concession of power that nonetheless allowed him to take the lead—so that their lips could come together.

Starscream was soft and hesitant, and his mouth still tasted like that pitted flavor oil he loved so much. Megatron kissed him slow and careful, making sure the younger mech would be free to pull away any time he wanted and relishing every second that he didn't. He resisted the urge to push his tongue past supple lips, not wanting to take things too far all at once.

While the Seeker seemed to have idea enough of what to do with his mouth, his hands kept moving around, hovering awkwardly over various parts of Megatron's anatomy, but never settling anywhere. The gladiator broke away for a moment and planted a small kiss on the corner of Starscream's mouth as he captured the tiny, delicate appendages in his own strong, calloused ones and held them to his chest. They were warm and shook ever so slightly as if Starscream was still unsure.

Megatron leaned in and kissed him all the better to soothe those nerves, and Starscream started to lean into him more across the arm rest that separated them. The gladiator growled with frustration and released one of the Seeker's hands to remove the obstruction. He slipped his arm around the other mech's lower back then and pulled him closer. Starscream moved into him, practically crawling into his lap as his free hand snaked up into the gladiator's hair. Megatron slid his hand up the Seeker's narrow back, and....

Starscream suddenly jolted with an undignified squawking noise, nearly biting a hole in Megatron's lower lip.

“What!?” the gladiator asked, hastily releasing him.

“That was my wing!” Starscream gasped by way of explanation, and Megatron gave a little, “ah” of understanding.

Seeker's wings were essentially bundles of highly compressed nerves and sensors in their root forms, and were therefore extremely sensitive. He knew it was rude to touch them without asking, especially in this particular context, but he wasn't used to making out with Seekers, and his body had moved on its own.

“I apologize. I—hic—meant no offense by it,” he said, reaching up to straighten the young mech's rumpled hair.

Starscream huffed, still blushing fiercely.

“Don't worry about it,” he muttered, settling back in against Megatron's side, his legs tucked up on the seat beside him.

The gladiator smiled before carefully draping his arm over the Seeker's shoulders, his hand coming to rest on the young mech's slender bicep. He could have circled it with his thumb and middle finger.

“You're pretty,” he murmured into the Seeker's hair, and felt the slight frame stiffen against him.

“I know,” Starscream replied after a moment, finding Megatron's other hand and taking it in his own.

The gladiator hiccuped again and crossed one leg over the other, hoping that the darkness would help hide just how pretty he thought the Seeker really was.

 

* * *

 

Starscream didn't remember falling asleep, but found himself slipping back into consciousness to the sound of a deep, gravelly voice reverberating through the warm surface he was resting on.

“Starscream? Hey, Starscream?” the voice called, and the Seeker was about to attempt a response when the pain set in—a dull, throbbing ache deep in his pelvis that seemed to radiate out through most of his lower torso.

“Oww....” he moaned, pulling his knees tighter together.

“You okay?” the voice asked, and now he recognized it as Megatron's. He was on a date, he remembered. He must have fallen asleep on the gladiator's chest partway through the second act. He would have been more embarrassed if he wasn't in too much pain to care.

A warm, rough hand came up to brush at his cheek, and Starscream opened his eyes. The show was over, and most everyone had filed out of the performance hall already.

“What time is it?” he muttered, pressing a hand to his aching stomach. So, this was what cycle cramps felt like? Death might have been preferable.

“It's almost midnight,” Megatron told him. “Are you sure you're okay? You're all pale and sweaty.”

Starscream nodded and started sitting up. One thing was for sure: he was not sleeping with anyone tonight. At least he'd gotten a good make out session. His valve throbbed slightly at the memory, sending a fresh wave of cramps through his body, and the Seeker doubled over with a sharp intake of air.

Lesson learned: do not arouse oneself while suffering from cycle cramps.

“Is that stuff not sitting well with you, either?” Megatron asked, amusement tinging his voice as he reached over and began to rub small circles in the Seeker's lower back. “Or are you having a cycle? Do you get those?”

Starscream's head snapped up. How did Megatron know!? Had he leaked onto his pants? Did he smell like old energon??

The gladiator's mouth opened in a little “oh” of surprise when their eyes met.

“ _Are_ you on your cycle?” he wanted to know.

“No,” Starscream protested weakly, his head swimming slightly as his lower body cramped again. Fragging gestation chamber! He didn't even _need_ the pitted thing!

“I'll take that as a yes,” Megatron chuckled. “One of your first ones? They're awful, aren't they?”

Starscream gritted his teeth and buried his face in his knees. Things had been going so well earlier. He'd really thought he would get through this without his stupidly treacherous body ruining things.

“Come on; you can lean on me if your knees don't want to work,” the gladiator offered.

“I'm fine,” the Seeker snapped, forcing himself to his feet. If he could handle a gored leg back on that one planet, he could walk this off.

 

* * *

 

He ended up leaning on Megatron all the way to the taxi and then again to his condo.

“Well,” the gladiator said when they arrived outside the front door. “I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I had an excellent evening. Although... I'm not sure how much of the opera I actually saw.”

Starscream blushed—something he had spent altogether too much time doing throughout the evening.

“Yes, well... I own a holofilm copy of it... if you'd ever want to watch the bits you missed...” he muttered digging around in his satchel to pull out his key card—he wasn't sure what his parents had set the combination to, but the card should be updated.

“What? At your place?” Megatron asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Well... sometime,” Starscream shrugged.

“Oo, my, Starscream,” the older mech smirked, stepping in close and planting his hands on the Seeker's hips. “Is that a proposition?”

Starscream felt his spark stop for a second as he looked up into the gladiator's warm, crimson eyes, sparkling with both affection and desire. He swallowed hard.

“I... suppose it is,” he confessed.

Megatron leaned in so that his lips brushed the younger mech's forehead when he next spoke. “I'd love to take you up on it sometime.”

He pressed his lips more firmly against the Seeker in a quick kiss before pulling back.

“In the meantime, I'll call you. Or write. Probably both,” the gladiator promised. “Feel better, niblet.”

And then he was gone, the feel of his hands lingering on Starscream's hips. The Seeker took a deep breath before turning to hurry into the apartment, reluctant to part, but eager to find some pain killers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoon888 may or may not have collaborated a bit on that kiss scene with me... Lol


	15. In Which the Paparazzi Strikes Again

 

“You, cousin, are fast on your way to burning in the fiery pits of the Unmaker with the rest of us.”

Starscream pulled his covers up over his head with a groan as Slipstream's voice cut through his attempts to hold onto sleep a bit longer.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded as he heard the hiss of blinds raising.

“Your mom gave me a key card when I started working in Iacon,” she explained. “Speaking of whom, she's probably crying in the All-spark right now for her poor, sinful little bitlet's spark after seeing this.”

Something thumped onto the bed beside Starscream's head, and he pulled the blanket aside a bit to see a datapad with a news article displayed on it. Ah, yes. The paparazzi.

'What's it say?” he asked, letting the blanket fall back over his face. He was too tired to read it himself. It felt like every ounce of energy in his body had rerouted to his overactive gestation chamber.

The bed sank slightly on one side as Slipstream took a seat and picked up the datapad again.

“'Last night at approximately 21:30 Iacon Standard Time, reliable informants captured these images of Starscream of Vos wrapped in amorous embrace with one Megatron of Kaon—the same gladiator our sources tell us he returned home with after Governor Sweetrock's birthday celebrations two weeks ago—at the Iacon opera house. Could this be the start of a new scandalous love affair?'” his cousin read. “And then there's a picture of you getting your wing groped. I mean, really it's nothing, but a bit scandalous for you, Star. I think it's the most action I've ever seen you get.”

“It was an accident!” the other Seeker snapped. “He stopped right after that because he's a _gentlemech_ , unlike _your_ lovers!”

“I can't understand a word you're saying with that blanket over your head, but I'm curious why he's not here now,” Slipstream told him. “I was really hoping to catch you in the middle of your first ever morning after. Did you chicken out at the last minute again?”

“No!” Starscream insisted, throwing the blanket aside. “I got my first fragging cycle last night! How do you _live_ with these!?”

Slipstream blinked at him for a moment, and then she burst out laughing, much the same as Thundercracker had.

“Why must you people mock my suffering?” her cousin growled, smacking her with a pillow before pulling his covers over himself once more. “I think I'm dying...”

He'd taken the strongest dose of pain killers he could find, but he could still feel his gestation chamber pushing against his other internal components in its enflamed state.

“You'll get used to it,” the femme assured him. “Anyway, how'd it go? Spill the dirt.”

“Read the news. It's all there,” Starscream told her. “Just leave me alone to die in peace.”

“You still have to go pick up Warp from my mom's place,” she reminded him, and Starscream moaned in despair. “A heating pad can help, you know. I bet your mom has one around here somewhere. I suppose I should let my mom know you'll be late...”

She stood, and wandered out of the bedroom, talking to herself. Once her voice had faded down the hall, Starscream reached out of the covers to grab the datapad she had left on the bed. The picture on the article was blurry and dark, but definitely him and Megatron. Normally, he hated being in the gossip columns, but this time he found himself smiling faintly, brushing a finger over the image of the gladiator's hands wrapped around his own.

He had snogged Megatron, and he didn't much care who knew it.

 

* * *

 

Starscream revised that opinion when his aunt came swooping into his bedroom less than an hour later with Skywarp in tow.

“Star, you little twat!” she announced as Skywarp bounded across the room to leap on top of his brother's huddled form.

“Oh, dear Primus, _nooooo!_ ” the Seeker groaned.

“What's wrong with him, Aunty?” the sparkling wanted to know as he attempted to extract his brother from beneath the covers. “Is he dying?”

“No, he's not,” the femme assured him, then added under her breath: “Though I might kill him myself...”

“What'd I do!?” Starscream demanded.

“A gladiator, Star!?” his aunt shrieked. “ _Really!?_ I expect this kind of scrap from Slipstream, but I always thought you'd inherited some of Daybreak's good taste!”

“Well, thanks, Mom,” Slipstream muttered from the doorway before moving away.

“Why are you even here!?” Starscream demanded, finally letting Skywarp pull the blanket away from his face again.

“To take care of you, of course,” his aunt said, like this should have been obvious. “Slipstream said you started cycling, and the first one's always the worst. So Skywarp and I hit the groundbridge as soon as possible. It's what my sister would have done, after all.”

Yes, except his mother would have come in here with soft words and a gentle touch, not judgmental shrieking and boisterous sparklings.

“I don't need taking care of,” Starscream grumbled. “And get off, Warp. You're hurting me.”

Skywarp quickly rolled off of the older Seeker's stomach and sat up, still staring curiously at him.

“Are you sick, Star?” he wanted to know.

“Yes,” his brother told him, throwing an arm over his face.

“But you're not gonna die?”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” the older Seeker grumbled.

“Star!” his aunt snapped. “Have some sensitivity for once!”

“He's the one who keeps asking me to die!” Starscream protested.

“No, he's...” Dawn made a noise of frustration. “Skywarp go help Slipstream find something to eat.”

Starscream felt the mattress bounce slightly as his brother's weight left it and peaked out from beneath his arm a bit to watch the sparkling race out of the room. His aunt approached the bed, and he hid himself once more. The mattress dipped again, and he braced himself for whatever criticism of his sparkling rearing skills was coming next.

“Your brother cried himself to sleep last night,” she said finally.

Starscream shifted his arm up to his forehead so that he could look at her.

“He was afraid that you weren't coming back,” Dawn elaborated.

“Why?” her nephew sneered at her.

“Because the last time his family told him they would come back in the morning, they _didn't_.”

Starscream blinked at her. He suddenly recalled Skywarp's tantrum the previous morning and how clingy his brother had become. It hadn't even occurred to him at the time that there might be a logical reason.

“You might try understanding his perspective on things once in a while instead of just getting angry at him,” his aunt continued. “He adores you. He just shows it differently than most sparklings.”

“By giving me pit twenty-four-seven?” Starscream wanted to know.

“Something like,” the femme sighed. “Anyway, cycling. When Slipstream started it, I gave her a whole speech about the sanctity of life and the beautiful gift of bearing Primus's sparks... I guess that doesn't really apply to you, though, does it?”

“I think Primus just hates me,” her nephew groaned.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic, Daybreak! I mean... Starscream. One of these days, I'll stop doing that.” She pushed herself up off the bed again. “It's a cycle, not the Cybonic plague. I'll go make you an infusion.”

Starscream continued to lay there, scowling at the ceiling as his internals grated against each other. All this yelling and intrusion from relatives was making him feel faint. He hoped it was true that the first cycle was the worst.

“So... you're really okay?” a small voice ventured from the doorway, and Starscream turned to see Skywarp hovering in the doorway. He opened their bond a bit, and now he could feel the hint of fear there.

“I'll be fine in a couple days,” he told his brother, and Skywarp seemed to relax considerably.

“So, can we go home soon?” the sparkling wanted to know, stepping closer to the bed. “I wanna see the dogs.”

“In a couple hours,” Starscream assured him. Skywarp sighed in resignation, and the older Seeker studied him critically. “You wanna... watch TV with me until then? We can put on whatever you want.”

Skywarp brightened instantly and started scrambling up onto the bed.

“Okay, okay! Just... easy!” Starscream snapped, rearranging himself as the sparkling shunted him aside to get under the covers with him. They settled in with Skywarp tucked up under his brother's arm, his head resting against the older Seeker's chest.

“You're a lot pokier than T.C.,” the sparkling remarked, curiously feeling the shape of Starscream's ribs beneath his pajama shirt.

“That's because T.C. got Dad's metabolism,” Starscream muttered, but he couldn't quite bring himself to be annoyed; Skywarp was cuddling with him! For the first time in almost seven months, his sparkling brother was cuddling with him. If he'd known that a death scrae was all it would take, he would've gone temporarily missing ages ago. “So, what are we gonna watch?”

“How about _Slaughter City Files?_ ” Skywarp suggested.

“What!?” Starscream pulled back a bit to look at him. “How do you even know that show exists!?”

“I watched it with T.C.,” the sparkling whined.

Starscream just rolled his eyes. No wonder he was the less popular older brother...

 

* * *

 

“Professional relationship, eh?” Rampant greeted Megatron when they met that afternoon, flipping a datapad around to show the gladiator a photo of himself in the middle of snogging Starscream.

“Do high-casters have nothing better to do than spy on each other's personal business?” Megatron wondered as he slid into the seat opposite from the general. “They aren't watching us right now, are they?” He glanced around the private dining room that Rampant had reserved for them, half-expecting to see a mech with a camera sneaking a shot through a crack in the wall.

“Oh, they don't care what an old fogey like myself gets up to,” the Seeker huffed. “I happened to hear about this incident because my grandson follows _your_ fan forums.”

“I have fan forums? I mean... ones that people around here pay attention to?”

“You're budding into quite the indie celebrity, Megatron,” Rampant told him. “Having a tryst with someone of Starscream's social standing is only expected at this point, I suppose.”

“Not a tryst,” Megatron contradicted him. “I assure you that my intentions toward Starscream are entirely honorable.”

“Oh, I'd be more worried for you than him, truth be told,” the general sighed. “I adore the kid as something like a nephew, but I'll be the first to tell you he can be a right glitch.”

Megatron blinked in surprise at this turn of events. He'd assumed he was about to get a lecture about what Rampant would do to him if he ever broke Starscream's spark, or some such.

“He's got a reputation for being cold, distant, and generally unreasonable,” the older mech continued. “He honestly thinks he's better than most everyone else he meets, but still manages to be one of the most insecure mechs I've ever met. So, good luck with that.”

“Well... I thought him quite pleasant last night,” Megatron remarked.

“I think you'll find most Seekers are if you rub their wings the right way,” Rampant chuckled, looking at the datapad again.

“That was an accident,” Megatron quickly assured him. “I would never have done something so crude in public on purpose.”

“You're only young once, Megatron,” the Seeker reminded him. “Might as well enjoy it while you can. Anyway, let us push Starscream aside for a moment and discuss business...”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your brother's making himself a bit of a reputation, isn't he?”

Thundercracker poked his head back out of the bathroom to smile at the femme stretched out on his bed. Cardinal was lying on her front, reading a datapad, with her hair trailing down her back in a luxurious curtain that he couldn't wait to get his hands in.

“I think it's good for him,” he told her, dropping his tooth polish back in the drawer before heading out to flop onto the bed beside her. “He's never really excelled at... _unwinding_ , if you get my drift.”

“You don't think there's going to be any fallout for him dating outside his caste?” Cardinal wanted to know, rolling onto her side to face him.

“Oh, plenty,” Thundercracker confessed. “He loves pissing people off, though, so it'll be half the fun. Anyway, it's not like he's gonna bond with the guy, or anything. It probably won't even last the month. I'll just be happy for him if he can enjoy it while he has it.”

The femme hummed, pushing the datapad aside and scooting closer to him. Thundercracker welcomed her sliding a hand around to cup her aft.

“And what about us?” she asked. “Are we going to last the month?”

“We have... what? One more week to go?” the Seeker mused. “I think we can make it.” He leaned in to capture beautifully full lips in a slow kiss, inhaling her scent—something heady and intoxicating that he had already fallen in love with.

“And after that?” Cardinal whispered when they'd parted.

“I think... we might just make it a few more months,” he told her, pulling her in close

 

* * *

 

 

Megatron and Rampant spent much of the rest of the afternoon discussing what the next steps for revitalizing Kaon's 24th district should be. Rampant wanted to continue focusing on the issue of medical care by building a bigger, fancier hospital, but Megatron was insistent that it should be education.

“We don't have the people to staff a hospital yet,” he pointed out. “Until we find enough doctors willing to work with us, why not focus on educating people more so maybe they'll stop doing the things that keep landing them in the hospital to begin with?”

“And what's the point of spending money to educate mechs and femmes who are going to die of disease or work-related accidents before they can do anything with it?” Rampant contradicted him.

“That's what people kept telling the mech who taught me how to read,” was Megatron's reply to that.

In the end, they agreed to a temporary compromise: Rampant would continue looking for doctors, and if Megatron could find someone both qualified and willing to open a school for adults in the middle of Kaon, then he would pull the strings necessary for the permits.

“He thinks he has me beat there, but it just goes to show how little he actually knows about Kaon,” Megatron told Soundwave over the comms as he boarded the transport for home that evening.

“Prospective teachers; ideas?” the other mech asked.

“Well... not as such,” the gladiator confessed, sliding into a seat. “But I think Outburst might have a few ideas. There are all kinds of educated people hiding in our city.”

“Such as Megatron,” Soundwave pointed out.

“I don't have time to run a school,” Megatron scoffed.

There was a pause, and then: “Tripwire querries: too busy groping Seekers?”

Megatron scowled, and a mech who'd been about to take the seat next to him hastily moved on.

“Tripwire's just bitter because no one's willing to put up with him more than one night,” he growled, and then after another pause, “Soundwave, are you laughing at me?”

“Negative.”

“That felt like a laughing pause. Why are you laughing at me?”

“Soundwave does not laugh.”

Not out loud, at least, Megatron reflected.

“Where are you two right now, anyway?” he asked, checking his chronometer and mentally calculating the corresponding time in Kaon. “Training hasn't even started yet.”

“Training; must prepare,” Soundwave said in non-answer. “Megatron; safe journey.”

“Sound—”

But the other mech had already disconnected the line. Megatron frowned in suspicion, but had other things to think about. He'd been waiting all day in hopes of a message of some sort from Starscream, and only just a moment ago realized that, while the Seeker may have relayed _his_ frequency in his letter, Megatron himself had never done the same.

He pulled the Seeker up in his contacts and sent off a quick, _::Had fun last night. How are you?::_ with his name attached. He was just settling into his seat, preparing to sleep for at least half of the 14-hour flight ahead of him when he got a reply.

_::Suffering my aunt's undying scorn because of you and your stupid wandering hands, you pervert!::_

Megatron snorted. He had a feeling that if Starscream were really upset about it, he wouldn't have replied in the first place.

 _::Well, Rampant approves,::_ he shot back. _::He told me to watch out, though, because you might break my spark.::_

The reply came faster this time.

_::I have never intentionally broken anyone's spark in my life! I can't help it that I'm irresistible.::_

Megatron smiled as he crafted his reply to that, reflecting that he might not even need the in-flight movie this time around.

 

* * *

 

Steelrim was in shock.

“I _told_ you it was pointless!” his mother crowed, waving the news article in front of his face. “He's as bad as his father—leading people along left and right and tossing them aside the second someone new comes along!”

“N-no, it's just...” her son choked.

“Whatever promises he's made you, he clearly doesn't care about them half so much as you do, Steel,” the femme barreled on. “If you want any hope of truly catching his attention, you _need_ to do something more, something bigger! You know that Liftright can give you the opportunity for that if you just cooperate with her!”

“But... the other two...” Steelrim tried, finally forcing his eyes away from the image of Starscream— _his_ Star!—in another mech's embrace. And a filthy, low-caste gladiator at that! A mech who made a living slaughtering others for entertainment... Starscream had pulled into his sordid net of seduction right under Steelrim's nose!

“You don't care about the other two!” his mother reminded him. “The one you're in love with is Starscream, and you're losing him because you're too scared to make your move!”

“But _he_ cares about them!” Steelrim protested. “Do you honestly think he'd ever love me if he knew I'd... That I had any part in...”

“And yet, he's going to lose them anyway, and _you'll_ lose _him_ if you _don't_ take part in it!” His mother slammed the datapad down on the table. “Slaggit, Steelrim! I'm trying to help you! You think I want to see my son go through that!?”

“You hate that I'm in love with him!” the young mech reminded her. “You just about _vomited_ when I first told you why I didn't want to do this!”

“Yes, I hate it!” his mother agreed. “I hate that my son fell in love with the spitting image of the femme who stole the mech _I_ loved. But I am _not_ going to let you go through what I did! So, just give Liftright what she wants already! _Please!_ ”

Steelrim blinked at her in amazement. He'd always known his mother hated Daybreak, but he'd assumed their rivalry was purely political. This was the first he'd ever heard mention of any love affairs. Then, his face screwed up as he did some math.

“Maelstrom was nearly twice your age, Mom,” he pointed out.

“Yes, and so was Daybreak. I should have been the obvious choice,” she sniffed. “And after all those years she spent blowing him off... It wasn't until I stepped in and threatened her fallback option that she wanted him. Trust me, dear; if Starscream is as much like his mother as everyone says, it'll take nothing short of the romantic equivalent of a brick to the head to get his attention.”

Steelrim shifted uncomfortably.

“I just don't understand _why_ ,” he moaned.

“No, but you will, darling,” his mother assured him, dropping down to his level to caress her son's cheek. “Just trust your mother this once. Please?”

He swallowed. “I'll... I'll talk to Liftright.”

His mother beamed.

“I don't know for sure that I'll agree yet,” he ammended quickly, “but I'll talk to her and see how I feel after that.”

“Oh, Steel, sweetie. Everything will be fine,” she said, leaning in to embrace him. “Just you wait. This time next year, everything will be so clear, and the mech you've wanted all this time will finally be by your side.”

Steelrim returned the embrace, hoping that his mother might prove right one more time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last chapter. I promise. I just got through this one and realized it made narrative sense to split the story in half here. If it were printed in a book, there would be a couple of blank pages and then a big ole "Part II" before the next chapter. Here on AO3, I'll just post it as a separate fic: "Failing and Flying: Part II". Yay. It'll be up in two or three weeks.
> 
> I'll also have to bump the rating for this section back down to plain old M because we still haven't gotten to those sexy bits... But they will be arriving... forthwith. ;)


	16. In which there is more story...

Hello! Your friendly neighborhood Kanon here. I just wanted to make sure anyone who subscribes to this story but not to me is aware that I am continuing this as Failing and Flying, Part II, and I just uploaded the first chapter yesterday. So, you can pop on over to my dashboard and find out what happens next for these idiots. Can't wait to see you all there!


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